


An Arrangement

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I dunno why I had this idea but I did, Scarred!Brock Rumlow, This is just a trope fest, Triple Agent! Rumlow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 85,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: “Do you still need a job?” Natasha asked Darcy over the phone. Darcy was sitting in her apartment, answering Jane’s emails.“Yup,” Darcy said, pushing up her glasses.“This would be an unusual arrangement,” Nat said slowly. “One of my colleagues was recently dumped.”“Yeah?” Darcy tilted her head to hold the phone awkwardly.“His ex and her new fiancé work for SHIELD. He wants someone to make appearances with him in public, make him seem happy and over it.”“A fake girlfriend?” Darcy said, slightly stunned.“Fiancée, I think,” Nat said. "He's very competitive."
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 673
Kudos: 787





	1. Nemesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

_2013, London_

“Excuse me, excuse me---ow!” Darcy said, as someone stepped on her foot. She was schlepping some of Jane’s Covergence doo-hickeys through a crowd of SHIELD people. Thank goodness she was wearing her sturdiest boots. 

“Sorry,” a flat male voice said. Darcy tilted her chin up and looked at the man who’d just stepped on her toes and then moved heedlessly past her. She got a brief glimpse of a dark and handsome profile….until Jane’s doo-hickey whacked him in the shoulder. Whoops, she thought snarkily.

“Hey, watch yourself,” he barked, face half-turning towards her. The man grimaced. “Do you know who I am?” he said. Darcy raked her eyes from his arrogant, handsome face to his heavy black tactical boots.

“A jackbooted thug with a small penis, probably?” Darcy said in a mock-sweet voice. 

“Fuck you--” he began, before the taller man with him squeezed his shoulder.

“Leave it, mate. That’s Foster’s assistant,” the other man said. He was Australian. Darcy made a smug face at Dark Haired Guy, then smiled at the Aussie.

“Yes, I am,” she said. She made sure to walk away proudly--waving her middle finger over her shoulder.

“Asshole!” Dark Haired Guy called after her. 

“Yes, I am!” she repeated. Ahead of Darcy, Jane and Ian were having a discussion. Ian looked up in surprise.

“What are you doing?” Ian said.

“Teasing the jackboots,” Darcy said, _plunking_ down the doo-hickey with a huff of exhaustion. “I believe that was my new Instant Nemesis.”

“Hey, don’t break it,” Jane grumbled.

“Are you not going to say anything about that situation?” Ian said, gesturing. Darcy snuck a peek over her shoulder. The Australian one was practically dragging her nemesis away. He looked like he wanted to march over and yell at her.

“No,” Jane said, shrugging. Darcy grinned in delight.

Jane didn’t care if Darcy offended the SHIELD people. In fact, Darcy thought Jane enjoyed it. So, she made sure to increase the frequency of her antics in the week that SHIELD stayed in London. She barred a few high-ranking officials from getting into the lab, aka Jane’s Mom’s House, when they were looking for Jane, hung up someone asking for Thor, and even hacked SHIELD’s webpage. “What are you doing?” Ian said, peering at her laptop. 

“Revenge,” Darcy said. She had replaced her nemesis’s official SHIELD photo with a goofy picture of John Stamos. “Take that, Agent Rumlow.”

“Have you lost your mind? Take that down!” Ian said. She scrolled through his page, ignoring Ian’s panic. 

“I really thought my nemesis would be taller,” Darcy said.

“He has a gun,” Ian said.

“Everyone in America has a gun,” Darcy said. “Practically-speaking. My uncle Herb has, like, twenty.”

“You’re kidding,” Ian said. Darcy shrugged. “You’re not kidding,” Ian said.

“He keeps them in a safe,” Darcy said.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Ian said, sounding sarcastic. It was difficult to tell sometimes with the accent. Some two hours later, the doorbell rang. “Darcy?” Ian called nervously. Darcy--busy with a carton of ice cream--didn’t bother putting down her spoon.

“Whaaaaat?” she yelled from the couch.

“Let me in there,” a more decisive voice said. There was a _thunk-thunk-thunk_ of footfalls. “I know what you did,” Agent Rumlow said, appearing in the doorway. He was wearing tactical pants and a clingy black t-shirt, along with these weird tactical gloves. Like he was a tv serial killer, she thought, here to midnight strangle and dash. “I have a fucking degree in computer science--”

“That’s nice, Agent Rollo,” Darcy said, eyes sliding purposefully back to the TV screen. “I’m sure your family was proud.”

“Fix it,” he said, stepping into the room.

“What, you can’t?” Darcy said, shaking her head. “I can show you how---”

“I’m not asking you, Lewis. I’m telling you.” He moved until he was staring down at her, arrogantly handsome chin tilted to one side. He was practically hovering over her now. She thought he might be flexing.

“Is that so?” Darcy asked, stabbing her spoon into the ice cream. “Because let me tell you something, nobody tells me what to do--”

“I am a fucking federal agent,” he began, raising his voice.

“Oooooh, so special,” Darcy snarked. She stuck one foot out, almost kicking him. “Excuse me,” she said, slapping the carton down on the end table.

“You little wiseass,” Rumlow said, reaching down to poke her in the chest.

“Hey!” Darcy said, slapping at his hand.

“That’s a crime,” he said smugly.

“Yeah, right,” she said, standing and poking him back. “Who touched who first?”

“Don’t you fucking touch me, you little--” 

Darcy didn’t realize they were screaming at each other until Jane started to yell. “Hey! Get out of my house!” Jane shouted, adding in a brief, sharp whistle. Darcy turned and saw a horrified-looking Ian and a mirthful-looking Jane standing in the doorway. 

“Excuse me?” Rumlow said. His eyebrows had gone up.

“Get out of my house,” Jane repeated. “You don’t have a warrant--or even jurisdiction.” Jane looked smug. “So, I’m--very calmly--asking you to leave.” Next to her, Ian swallowed. Rumlow looked at Darcy with a grimace. It was memorable.

“You heard her, Rollo,” Darcy said, smiling brightly. “Get lost.”

“Fine,” he said sourly. “I’ll take it down my _fucking_ self.” She watched as he marched out of the house. Jane kept eye contact, but Ian looked visibly nervous.

“Fantastic!” Darcy yelled, as the front door was slammed shut.

* * *

_Now_ _, Washington, DC_

“Whaddya want?” Brock said, resting his face on the bar top. It felt cool against his scarred forehead. Jack Rollins’ boots were just barely in his peripheral vision. He sighed.

“Mate, I know you’re struggling,” Jack said slowly. Brock listened as he sat down. The hotel bar was quiet at one am on a Wednesday night. He’d chosen it so he could drink alone and then stumble upstairs to his room. 

“Struggling?” Brock said, snorting. He lifted his face off the counter. “Jesus Christ. Jack, look at my fucking face,” he said bluntly. The mirror behind the bar reflected his scars back at him. 

“There’s new treatments SHIELD would pay for. You were undercover. I’m hearing about things--” Jack said.

“Doesn’t matter. Money doesn’t matter, either,” Brock slurred. He shoved his phone at the Australian. There was an image onscreen. A photograph of a woman’s hand. “She didn’t just throw me out,” Brock said bitterly. “She moved him in. This asshole from Epilson. They’re fucking engaged, Jack.”

“Bloody hell,” Rollins said.

“She was fucking him behind my back,” Brock rambled drunkenly. “All that shit--that I wasn’t myself, that I needed help, that she was worried about me, it was all bullshit. Fuck!” His empty glass slid across the bar and the bartender looked up in concern. “I need another drink,” Brock called out. The bartender walked over.

“I’m cutting you off--”

“No fucking way,” Brock said.

“Sir, I’m cutting you off,” the bartender said.

“I can’t get one fucking drink?” Brock whined. Jack grasped his elbow and Brock turned. “What?” Brock said. 

“Let me help you upstairs, mate,” Jack said. 

“Fine, fine,” Brock said, standing unsteadily. Jack had to catch him. “Shit. I’m fucked. I’m so fucked,” Brock rambled, as they got on the elevator. “I gotta do something, Jackie.” He could see his reflection--dimly viewable scars--in the metal surface of the elevator. Shiny brass.

“I know,” Jack said.

“We were gonna get married,” Brock said. “Fuck. Now I gotta see them at work, both of ‘em. How--how the fuck do I do that?” He stumbled forward and pressed his palm into the metal doorframe, obscuring his face’s reflection for a moment. It left a palm-shaped smudge.

“You’ll meet somebody better,” Jack said, catching his other elbow as Brock swayed and stared at his own hand. “Someone better than Miranda.”

“Where--where the fuck am I gonna find that with this face?” Brock said, starting to laugh bitterly.

“Lots of women in the world,” Jack said, steering him off the elevator carefully. “You’ve met plenty of women before. Women love you, even when you’re working. Where’s your room key?” he asked. Brock patted his pockets.

“Here,” Brock said. He looked at Jack and had a drunken epiphany. “Women did love me when I was working, didn’t they?”

“‘Course they did,” Jack said, swiping the card. It _bonked_ sadly. Jack rescanned it. This time, the light turned green. “Remember Buenos Aires?”

“Wasn’t even real,” Brock said. “I just pretended to be interested in that woman. She was HYDRA--”

“She was,” Jack said, nodding in agreement and practically carrying Brock into his room. “But people thought you were a couple.” 

“That’s what I gotta do,” Brock said. He swayed towards the bed, almost falling.

“Yeah,” Jack said, sounding distant. He’d caught Brock’s jacket. Brock pulled out of his sleeve.

“Gonna pretend to be happy,” Brock said. “Jack, you gotta help me find the woman. That might send Miranda running back.” He started to laugh. It was an ugly sound.

“Huh?” Jack said, trying to get the other sleeve off. Brock sunk down onto the mattress, grinning drunkenly. 

“I’m gonna beat her at her own fucking game,” Brock said. “I got money. Someone’ll agree to a deal.”

“Start again?” Jack said, frowning.

“You gotta help me find a chick to pretend to be my fiancée, so I can show my goddamn face in this town,” Brock said. 

“What?” Jack said. 

“It’s the perfect fucking plan,” Brock said. He reached for Jack’s arm. “You’re a smart guy. Good friend. I’mma show those fuckers you can’t betray me--”

“Bloody hell,” Jack said, when he realized Brock had passed out. He rubbed his hands over his face as Rumlow started to snore. “He can’t be fucking serious.”

“I’m fucking serious,” a hungover Brock insisted the next morning. “I’m doing this. Help me, don’t help me. It’s your choice.”

“Mate,” Jack said helplessly. “This is no small risk--the security clearances alone--”

“I’ll get options from the internal lists,” Brock said. “Don’t treat it like a big fucking deal--wait.” He pulled out his phone and started dialing.

“Who are you calling?” Jack asked.

“Romanoff,” Brock said. “She loves this shit.” Jack listened in horror while Brock outlined his plan. “I’m happy to make some financial contributions, sweeten the deal. Yeah, sure, it can be somebody with student debt,” he told her over the phone. He looked at Jack. “She’s calling someone now.” 

“You’re kidding,” Jack said.

“Nope,” Brock said.

* * *

“Do you still need a job?” Natasha asked Darcy over the phone. Darcy was sitting in her apartment, answering Jane’s emails.

“Yeah,” Darcy said, pushing up her glasses. “I mean, I’m still doing stuff for Jane, but that takes me two hours a day, max, with her and Thor in space. And I could use more money.”

“Student loans?” Nat said.

“You know it,” Darcy said, “interest never stops.” She sighed.

“This would be an unusual arrangement,” Nat said slowly. “One of my colleagues was recently dumped.”

“Yeah?” Darcy tilted her head to hold the phone awkwardly.

“His ex and her new fiancé work for SHIELD. He wants someone to make appearances with him in public, make him seem happy and over it.”

“A fake girlfriend?” Darcy said, slightly stunned.

“Fiancée, I think,” Nat said. "He's very competitive."

“Seriously? Why?” Darcy said.

“He was badly burned during the HYDRA Uprising,” Nat said. “He thinks it would be difficult to meet someone new with his current appearance.”

“So, this guy was hurt and his girlfriend cheated on him with somebody else from work?” Darcy said.

“Is that a yes?” Nat said. 

* * *

“Sounds good. Younger, huh?” Brock smirked, then hung up. “She’s sending someone to meet me for dinner tonight.” He laughed and rubbed his hands together. “Jack, I feel better already,” Brock said.

“You’re mad as a cut snake,” Jack muttered, mostly to himself.

“Can I get some more coffee? Thanks,” Brock told their waiter. He looked at Jack. “Romanoff says she’s a knockout, she’s got student debt, and I’ll like her sense of humor.”

  
  


* * *

“Jane, you left me for space, you don’t get to scold me on my life choices,” Darcy told her as she walked down a DC street. 

“I didn’t leave you,” Jane cut in, “space makes you nauseous.” Jane was still paying her as a remote assistant, but Darcy could work from home. Also, she felt more independent at this distance. And she was slightly jealous of the fun Jane and Thor were probably having on The Milano. She liked Rocket and Groot, too!

“Fine,” Darcy grumbled. “Romanoff says this guy was hurt during the”--she lowered her voice--”building thing, so he’s badly burned.”

“The Triskelion collapse?” Jane said. There was a tiny bit of static. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “She said I’d get along with him and that he was recently cheated on and now his ex and her new guy work with him, it’s all kinds of ugly.”

“And you’re inserting yourself into this situation?” Jane said, sounding dubious and superior all at once.

“Don’t sound so smug, I like siding with the underdog,” Darcy said. “I can help this guy get revenge on his ex and pay off my loans at one time, it’s a win-win.” Ian had cheated on Darcy, returning to his college girlfriend, Arabella, so she was perfectly happy to help out someone in that situation. Especially someone who’d been badly hurt and then badly dumped. She just hoped she could make him comfortable. She was worried about the face she’d make the first time she saw his injuries.

“Fine,” Jane grumbled. “Don’t get murdered.”

“Not planning on it,” Darcy said, spotting the restaurant. “I’m here. It’s called Le Diplomate. It looks very swanky and nice.”

“I’m writing that down,” Jane said. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. “Wish me luck.” They hung up and Darcy pushed the restaurant door open. Romanoff had made the reservation for dinner under her last name, she’d texted Darcy. “Lewis, party of two,” Darcy said to the hostess. “I don’t know if my date is here, I’m early.”

“Not yet,” the hostess said. She led Darcy to a cozy table. 

“Thank you,” Darcy said happily. It felt like she was in Europe again. That was nice. Even if this guy flaked out, she’d discovered a new place. She was asking the waiter about the Vouvray when the hostess returned, trailed by a man in a dark suit. He was badly scarred; Romanoff hadn’t exaggerated. But it wasn’t anything that terrifying. Darcy smiled and half stood, offering her hand. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Darcy--”

“Lewis?” the man said. That was when she recognized his voice--and him.

“Agent Rollo?” she said, jaw dropping.

“It’s Rumlow,” he said. They stared at each other for a moment. Darcy realized the waiter was staring at them, too. Rumlow spoke first. “What are you looking at?” he said sharply. The waiter looked like he was trying to work out what was going on and flinched at his tone.

“A guy being a jerk to waitstaff?” Darcy suggested. Rumlow opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, pulling out a chair. 

“Thank you,” Darcy said. She looked at the waiter. “I’ll have the Vouvray,” she said. 

“You have bourbon?” Rumlow asked. The waiter nodded. When he had gone, Rumlow looked at her. “He was staring at me,” he said, voice stubborn. Then he went quiet. “Romanoff didn’t say it was you.”

“She didn’t tell me, either,” Darcy said. She decided to be straightforward. “Is that a problem?”

“Is that a problem--you started shit with me, you remember that?” Rumlow said. “Replacing my photo with fucking Stamos.” Darcy couldn’t help it: she started to giggle. He glared. “You were a pain in my ass,” he said.

“I was,” Darcy said proudly. He stared at her.

“You’re proud of yourself, huh?”

“Of course I am!” she said. He seemed to study her. 

“Yeah, you are,” he said, nostrils flaring. “I guess the universe likes jokes on me, huh?”

“Hey, I’m just here because I believe in revenge on shitty exes,” she said cheerfully. He smiled briefly, then frowned. “What?” she said.

“You’re not exactly what I was expecting,” he said. He raked his eyes over her and his lips curled in a dismissive way. “This is gonna be a problem.”

“What’s that mean?” Darcy asked, not liking his tone.

“Romanoff said knockout,” he told her. “And--”

“And?” Darcy asked pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m not saying you’re not pretty,” he said. “You’re pretty, it’s just, you know, you’ve got the goofy hats and--”

“Are you negging my hat?” Darcy asked incredulously. She was wearing her cutest cap. It was a little red beret with a pink ribbon, like a present box. There was even a little embroidered tag that said _I’m the Gift._ “This is a good hat,” she insisted.

“I need you to make my ex jealous,” he said. “So, we gotta change some things in your wardrobe.”

“I don’t need a new wardrobe,” Darcy said, standing up. She was pissed off. How dare this asshole neg her like this?! “You can take your wardrobe and—,” she began. He looked at her coolly. People at nearby tables were really looking at them now. 

“You need those loans repaid, don’t you?” Rumlow said. Darcy stood there for a long moment, then sighed. She owed Culver. And they were still sending her letters asking for more money. Like she had money to donate!

“Shut up, Rollo,” Darcy said, sitting back down. “Where’s my freaking wine?”

“That’s my girl,” he said smugly. 

“I am not---oh, shit,” she said. He smiled, scars twisting. 

“You are now,” Rumlow said. He looked at the menu as the waiter returned with their drinks. “What are you eating?” he asked. She looked at it, too--and felt a little wicked.

“Oh, I like lobster,” she said. She looked at him. The lobster was the most expensive thing on the menu.

“Expensive taste, huh?” he suggested. “Good.” 

“Lobster frites?” the waiter said. 

“Yes,” Darcy said, then looked at her fake date. Rumlow ordered for himself, then smiled at her.

“You’re gonna cost me money, huh?” he said. 

“Just wait until we revamp my closet,” she said archly. He started to laugh.

They were eating when Rumlow looked at her. “What is it?” Darcy said. He was actually staring at her now. Intently. They were playing accordion music in the background. She loved accordion music. She’d loathed him on sight. She was wearing her cutest hat in a great restaurant. With him. The pleasant warred with the bizarre. This was the strangest night of her life.

“You got butter on your lip,” he said. He stabbed his steak with his fork.

“Don’t be rude--” Darcy said. 

“It’s a good mouth,” Rumlow told her. She flushed. He was doing this on purpose, Darcy knew. He was sober: he’d had one drink, then switched to water.

“Don’t try and fake charm me, you’re my nemesis,” she told him, reaching for her wine.

“I was your nemesis?” he said. “You needed more to do, sweetheart. What did I even do to you?”

“You stepped on me,” Darcy reminded him.

“In my defense, you are a very small woman,” he said.

“Listen, Rollo--” Darcy said.

“Brock,” he said.

“What?” she said, frowning.

“My name is Brock,” he said. “You gotta call me that, if we’re engaged now.”

“Do I have to?” Darcy said. She raised her eyebrows. “Brock?” He smirked slowly.

“Darcy?” he said, mocking her tone. She rolled her eyes. She ate another bite of lobster and then he repeated her name. She looked up.

“Hmm?” she said.

“We’re gonna need to get you a ring,” he said. She was so startled, Darcy dropped her fork. It landed on her plate with a clatter and a splash. “Whoops,” Brock said. “That butter’s gonna ruin your….nice sweater?”

“Bite me,” Darcy said. It was her favorite, comfiest brown sweater. She’d had it since New Mexico. It was, she could admit to herself, a little worn, but it was a perfectly fine sweater. She looked at him. “I don’t even wear jewelry!”

“Yeah, I see that,” Rumlow said.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said. “Why do you want to do this?” He looked at her, blinked, opened his mouth--and closed it again. “Seriously?” Darcy said. 

“I’ll make sure it’s a decent ring, nothing cheap,” he said.

“I want dessert,” she bargained. She didn’t care about a ring. It seemed absurd. Couldn’t they just say they were engaged and leave it at that?

“Dessert and champagne,” he countered. She was slightly smashed and full of crème brûlée by the time he tucked her into an Uber. “You free tomorrow at six?” he asked, as they stood in front of the car’s door.

“So soon?” she said.

“We gotta buy you a ring,” Rumlow said. 

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Darcy asked, feeling oddly serious. She held onto his jacket lapels a little, dropping her eyes to his neck. “You’re a real person, you don’t have to do this because of some stupid ex.”

“A real person?” he said, looking at her.

“You have skills and, um, grown up things?” she said, trying to grasp for the right term. “Like dignity?”

“Dignity?” Rumlow said. He shook his head.

“You know what I mean,” she said. He readjusted her hat and snorted. 

“You’re the gift, huh?” he said. He must’ve seen the mock tag.

“I am,” she said, grinning. “Wherever I go.” She loved her hat. He looked at her for a long moment, then opened the car door. Darcy got in and watched him through the window. His expression was hard to read. He tapped the top of the car when she’d buckled her seatbelt. Darcy grinned. It felt like an oddly cinematic move, like he was an old-fashioned movie star. As the Uber pulled away, he tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. She turned to watch him get smaller and smaller as they drove away. Then she called Jane. “You’re never going to believe who it is!” Darcy said into the phone. “Rumlow!”

“Who?” Jane said.

“The guy you threw out of your Mom’s house,” Darcy said.

“The guy you hated?” Jane said.

“Yes!” Darcy said. “That guy.”

“Whoa,” Jane said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I had this idea, I just did! 
> 
> Also, obligatory cute hat: https://www.etsy.com/listing/887702961/im-the-gift-beret?ref=shop_home_active_2&crt=1


	2. The Anti-Miranda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! I'm having such fun with this one!

“We should talk about this,” she said, when she met Brock for coffee the next afternoon. They were meeting at a shopping center that had a bunch of jewelry stores to ring shop. They’d talked on the phone that morning. “Ohh,” Darcy said, seeing a cellophane wrapped bouquet at his elbow. He’d brought flowers? “For me?” she asked.

“You see anybody else around?” he asked. They were fluffy pink flowers.

“Shut up, asshole,” she murmured. “I love them, though. Pretty flowers.” She patted them happily. He snorted.

“Yeah, the point is for you to Instagram the fucking things,” he said, looking bored. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. She snapped a photo and then one of herself holding them and uploaded them to her social media. He’d followed her last night. So had multiple SHIELD people. Natasha had texted to say that she was already mentioning them at work. Darcy made sure to put some cutesy emojis in the caption. When she was done, he nodded in approval.

“Better outfit today,” he commented, eyes trailing over her. Darcy rolled her eyes. She was wearing one of her normal plaid shirts, this one just showed her curves more. “What do you want to talk about?” Brock asked. “You want coffee? It’s cold out and we’ll be walking around.”

“The ring. What if we just do a simple band or something?” Darcy said. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said, shaking his head. When people looked, he lowered his voice. “The point is to show them up, Lewis,” he said. He brought out his phone, frowning, swiped around, and slid it over to her. There was a woman’s hand onscreen. “You can’t show up with a fucking band when my ex is wearing this.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. She looked closer. “That’s her ring?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t like it,” Darcy said. His ex’s ring was unusual. A pear shaped diamond being held by a curling diamond-studded arm. The center stone was large, but it seemed aggressive to Darcy. “Don’t you think it looks sharp or something?” she asked him. "Pokey?"

“Eh,” he said. “It doesn’t fucking matter to me, it just needs to be something that looks nice.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, “let’s get coffee and look around.”

Of course, it turned out to matter very much to him. Brock Rumlow had a damn opinion about everything, Darcy discovered. She wouldn’t have minded if it was just that he was emotionally invested in showing up his ex. But no, he thought her taste in rings was too small. Or too old-fashioned. Darcy had had several arguments with him by the time they wandered into another jewelry store that stayed open late. “This is crazy,” Darcy said. “Jane was right.” He was holding her hand--she’d almost tripped over the curb trying to juggle her coffee and the flowers--and shepherding her around like a sheepdog. 

“Foster don’t like me?” he said, as they walked past glass cases filled with sparkling gems.

“She thought this was a bad plan. And you might be a murderer,” Darcy said. “But that was before I knew you were you. She’s less worried now. I’m the one that’s worried we can’t even agree on a freaking fake ring---oooh.” She was distracted by something shiny. She leaned towards a case.

“That’s a necklace, sweetheart,” he said. “Wrong category.”

“Boo,” Darcy said, sighing. She stopped and he turned back to her. 

“C’mon,” he said. She was beginning to feel herded. She carted her flowers to the bridal cases and he stood behind her. “Whaddya like?” he said, after the sales person came over. Darcy surveyed the row of sparkling rings. After awhile, they all started to swim and blend together, just rows of flash and glitter under the professional lights. Who could decide? 

“That one?” she said, pointing to a simple ring. “What kind of ring is that?” she asked the sales person.

“A half-carat cushion cut solitaire with a knife-edge band,” the woman said.

“Oooh, knife edge,” Darcy said, nudging him. She thought that might appeal to him. 

“Plain,” Brock grumbled. 

“You’re impossible,” Darcy said, moving down the case. “I like the simpler ones or vintage, he doesn’t,” she told the sales person. “This is our fourth store---ooooh, hearts!” There were a few heart-shaped diamonds. She liked hearts and he loathed them. Also, she felt like trolling him. “Can we see that tray?” The salesperson said yes and brought it out to show them.

“Pick something else,” he said, frowning. Darcy’s hand hovered over several options. There was a beautiful oval one with a pave band. 

“That’s nice, but I like the hearts and emerald cuts better,” she said. She moved onto to the next one. “That one,” Darcy said decisively, pointing to a heart-cut solitaire. “I like that one, it’s feminine, it’s simple.” Next to all the all the blingy rings, it looked relatively small with its unadorned band. But she thought she could wear it happily. He sighed.

“That one?” Brock said. He made a face. “What is it with you and these Baptist teenager promise rings?” he complained. The saleswoman stared at them.

“Okay, I can’t do this,” she said. 

“What?” he said. “You’re quitting?”

“No, no, I just--I can’t pick a ring that will make you happy,” she said. Darcy crossed her arms. “Obviously.” He glared at her. 

“Do you need a moment?” the saleswoman asked.

“Yes,” Darcy said.

“C’mon,” he said. “Just pick something better. Don’t women love spending money on this shit?” He sighed. “You can waste my money, just don’t waste my time or make me look cheap.”

“God, you’re such an ass,” Darcy said, resisting the urge to point out he was the one dragging her to store after store. “Also, the man usually picks.”

“Okay, fine,” he said. He looked around. “That one.” He pointed to a ring. 

“No, I hate that one,” Darcy said.

“Why?”

“It’s yellow gold,” she said. “Totally clashes with my skin.” He snorted. They bickered their way through the store. She eyed a delicate vintage ring from the estate case appreciatively, but he vetoed it. 

“Nope, not big enough,” he said. “You got anything larger?”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, wandering away. She was staring at some pearl earrings--extra lustrous under the lights--when she heard Brock speak.

“This is it, this is the one,” he said. 

“Huh?” she said, turning and moving over. “This better not be fug--” He waved her back.

“Nuh-uh,” he said. “The man picks, right? I’m picking. You don’t get to see it yet.”

“Okay, fine,” Darcy said, giving up. She was going to give it back to him after this was over, anyway.

“Give her your finger,” he said. “We need to size it.”

“It already fits,” the sales associate said. “Perfect size.”

“Perfect,” Brock said. “Let’s get dinner.”

“Where?” Darcy said.

“My place,” he said.

* * *

He was humming to himself as they took an Uber back to his hotel. “How ugly is it?” she asked. He made a dismissive noise. The ring box was in his hand and he dodged her attempts to grab it. “Fine. Do you really live at a hotel?” she wondered.

“Temporarily,” he said. 

“That’s what everyone living in a hotel sa---here? You live here?” Darcy said, stunned. It wasn’t a sketchy hotel, she realized. It was a good one. The Uber stopped.

“Yeah,” he said. He looked at her after he climbed out. “Can you walk?” he cracked.

“Bite me.”

“Where?” he asked.

“How am I supposed to pretend to find you charming?” she said, trailing him into the lobby’s elevator. He smirked.

“Love finds a way,” he said.

“Not into my pants, I just want to make that clear,” she told him. The elevator dinged. 

“I’m so disappointed,” he said dryly. 

“What are you doing?” Darcy said, as he unlocked the door. He gave her a skeptical look.

“This is where I propose and all that shit, establish our backstory,” Brock said.

“On date two?” Darcy said.

“We’ve known each other for years,” he said, letting her into his room. “Casually. We reconnected when I found out you were in town and I knew on date one.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. 

“Simple truth is easier to remember,” he said, sitting on the bed. He took off his coat and tossed her the ring box.

“Ahh!” Darcy said, attempting to catch it and succeeding in punting it across the room when it bounced off her hands. It slid under the bed after landing on the floor. She had to get down on her hands and knees to fish it out. He laughed at her. “Shut up,” she muttered, feeling under the bed. “Oof.” Darcy finally got her fingers around the leather box. She looked at it for a long moment. “I’ll be pissed if this is a letdown,” she told him. He laughed and she realized he was lying across the bed.

“You said you don’t wear jewelry,” he said. “How can it be a letdown?” She liked jewelry, Darcy wanted to say, she just couldn’t afford it, but she wasn’t telling him that. 

“Still,” Darcy said. She opened the box slowly, hands nervous and fumbling. “Oh shit,” she whispered, stunned. He had chosen a heart-shaped diamond on a pave band. It was haloed by more small diamonds. She hadn’t expected anything so feminine. It sparkled. Darcy looked up at him in surprise. 

“You like it?” Brock asked.

“Yeah,” she said, realizing she did. She really did. “I really do. It’s...romantic?” In response, he grinned.

“Miranda—my ex—she hated that kind of thing,” he said. “No hearts. Nothing girly.”

“This is the one in Legal?” Darcy asked. He nodded. “You want me to be the anti-Miranda?” she wondered out loud. He chuckled, but it wasn’t a nice sound.

“Fuck yeah,” he said. He looked at her. “That’s what we’ll do. Put the ring on.” She slid it on, unable to hide her smile.

“Pretty and girly,” Darcy said, studying the stone on her hand. To her surprise, he started reeling off instructions.

“You should wear your hair down when you visit me at work, too,” Brock said. “Maybe we can make your clothes look okay. They look young.”

“Gee, thanks,” Darcy said.

“I’m gonna order room service,” he told her. “What do you want?” he asked, passing her a menu. She studied it. 

“Risotto,” she told him. He nodded.

“Go change your clothes.”

“What?” Darcy said. He pointed to a garment bag hanging on the the armoire in the room.

“Romanoff sent something over,” he said. “She says it’ll fit you. It’s for the pictures, Lewis.”

“You want me to change clothes, so we can take photos of our pretend engagement dinner?” she said slowly.

“Think of it as modeling to pay off your student loans,” he said archly. “We gotta justify the money I spent tonight, take some photos of that ring.” 

“Okay,” Darcy said, getting the garment bag. She stopped with her hand on the bathroom door handle. “You have any requests for my hair tonight?” Her voice was arch. He studied her.

“Curly’s good,” he said. “Definitely not Miranda.” She went into the bathroom and shut the door, hanging the bag on a hook.

“I really wanna see what _Miranda_ looks like,” Darcy said to herself, unzipping the garment bag. Inside was a red dress. “Oh shit,” Darcy said. It looked like something a celebrity would wear. Or Natasha Romanoff. Not her. Darcy undressed and then slid the dress over her hips, hoping it fit.

It did. 

She gazed at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The image reflected back felt surreal. Darcy had never worn a dress like this in her life: vividly red with cap sleeves, it was low cut in the front and had a little ruffle thingy at the waist. She snapped a photo and sent it to Jane, making a face. Then she sent another of the ring. Darcy wasn’t sure which one was more shocking: the heart glittering on her finger or her outfit. “Okay,” she told herself. She opened the bathroom door slowly. “I don’t have shoes for this and if you say anything insulting, I’m out--” she began. When she got the door open, Rumlow was sitting on the bed, phone at his ear. He stared, then dropped the phone slowly. “Well?” Darcy said, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Verdict?”

“I’ll call Romanoff,” he said, voice low, “and have her get you one in every color.”

“Oh,” she said. “That good, huh?”

“Lewis, you shouldn’t wear anything else,” he said dryly. He returned the phone to his ear. “Prosecco,” he said. He looked at her. “Risotto, right?”

“Yes,” she said, looking down at the ring. When she glanced back up, he was watching her silently. “What?” she said.

“You look great. Let’s take some pictures,” he said, standing up. He slung an arm around her and steered her towards the hotel’s big window. “Get a nice view of the city behind us,” Brock said. Darcy leaned lightly against him, pasting on a smile. He held his phone up. Their faces were reflected in the screen. “I look like shit,” Brock said, frowning at his phone. “Fuck.” 

“This is just a bad angle,” Darcy said. “We’ll figure it out.” She moved. “What if you look at me?” He made a face.

“I hate my fucking ears,” he said. They were slightly mangled, she realized.

“I hadn’t even noticed,” she said softly.

“Are you blind?” Brock asked, rolling his eyes. She knew he was sarcasming defensively, but she didn’t appreciate his tone.

“Maybe I just don’t go around looking at other people’s ears or making fun of their sweaters,” she said. “Most people don’t focus on stuff like that.” He curled his lips at her.

“Bite my ass,” he muttered. She rolled her eyes, but realized she needed to find a solution that wouldn’t make him crazy depressed.

“Let’s Will and Kate it,” Darcy said. She pulled up an engagement photo of the royal couple on her phone. 

“Oh, that’s fucking great,” Brock complained. “I look like a sweater guy to you?”

“Shut up and hold me like that,” Darcy said. “I’m talking about the pose. I’ll put my hand on your chest, everyone will see the ring. You put your arms around me and turn your head so it’s all about my hair and the ring,” she told him.

“Just one problem,” he said. “Who’s taking this photo?”

“We’ll use the timer and--uh, something as a tripod?” Darcy said. Fifteen minutes later, they had rigged up a tripod with some of his work gear and Brock had invented his own version of _say cheese._

“Fuck my ex,” he said cheerfully, as he pulled Darcy against him. She started to laugh and actually leaned against him. “Shit, your eyes are going to be closed again,” he complained.

“Are they?” she said, as he went back to the phone.

“You look a little wasted,” he said. “But your tits look amazing.”

“How are my boobs even that visible?” Darcy wondered. “I’m mostly facing you!”

“You can’t keep a pair that good down, Lewis,” he joked. 

“Classy, future husband,” she snarked at him. Shrugging, he scrolled through the photos and then spoke.

“One more,” he said, embracing her again. “Fuck my ex.” Darcy pretended to look happily into the camera. Then she had an idea. 

“Let’s do one more set, I’ve got an idea,” she told him. When he embraced her after resetting the camera, she reached up with her left hand and cupped his face, masking his ear and some of his scars with a view of her ring. She looked up at him purposefully, hoping that her fake smile seemed besotted and not drunk. “Fuck your ex,” she said. Brock looked into her eyes intently, expression unreadable. He was staring when room service knocked.

“I’ll get that,” he said, releasing her abruptly.

“Hello,” the room service guy said.

“Hi,” Darcy said. Darcy felt rattled, standing there barefooted, as room service rolled in the cart, like _Fake Bride_ was written across her forehead. 

“Which one do you want to share?” she asked Brock, as they ate. She’d taken a photo of her ring as she held her prosecco. “Is this tacky?” she said, sliding the phone across the table. 

“No,” he said, studying the photo. “Throw that one up, too.” She’d put up two pictures of them embracing--Brock had made suggestions about filtering and she’d followed his ideas, intuiting that he wanted his scars softened. Abruptly, he snapped a photo of her as she looked back up at him. 

“What are you doing?” Darcy said.

“I,” Brock said, “am going to spend all my time bragging about how gorgeous my fiancée is.” He shifted his fork. “Which means taking pictures of you.”

“Oh good, just what the world needs, more photos of me looking high,” she joked.

“That right?” he said.

“My whole life,” Darcy said. “Since I was twelve, every photo of me has a vaguely smashed look.” He smirked. There was something about his expression, especially as his eyes trailed over her body. “What?” Darcy said.

“And I’m taking you shopping for better clothes this weekend,” Brock said.

“Oh God,” Darcy said, pulling a face. 

“When we’re done, you’ll have a better wardrobe and no student debt,” he said seriously.

“I appreciate that,” she said, uncertain of what to say. “I mean, I appreciate what you’re doing for me,” Darcy added. She slid her phone closer. On the screen, she was staring at him besottedly--or at least she hoped that she looked besotted.

“It’s nothing,” he said, waving his fork. 

“I’ll call an Uber before I change,” she said. “I’m sure you have an early morning--”

“Lewis, you have to spend the night here. People don’t go home after they get engaged,” Brock said. Her jaw dropped. Darcy looked at him, then at the bed. 

“You want me to stay here?” she said slowly. “There’s only one bed.”

“Calm down, it’s a double bed,” he told her. “And nothing’s happening, if you’re worried about me.”

“I’m not,” she said. He scoffed. “Okay, you’re a strange man, I think I have the right to be cautious, theoretically. I’m not saying you’re--”

“A fucking predator?” he said, looking offended. “Because of my face?”

“No,” Darcy said, looking at him incredulously. “You’re bigger than me, stronger than me, and I don’t really know your history. It’s how I would feel about any man.”

“Any man?” Brock said. He was clearly pissed.

“In the real world, yeah,” Darcy said. “I wish it wasn’t that way, but it is. If I trust some guy and he betrays my trust and hurts me, the first thing anyone will say is, _‘how could you be so careless, you didn’t know him, Darcy?’_ If we’re taking about de facto cultural standards, I’m responsible for taking care of myself,” she said. “It’s why I tased Thor.” He frowned.

“Shit,” he said. “You’re right.” He looked at his plate and then up at her again. “I’ll sleep on the damn floor,” he said. 

“Okay,” she said.

“I forgot you tased Thor,” he said. 

“Yup,” she said, feeling like it was safer ground.

“My fiancée tased Thor,” Brock said, looking up. He’d lit up a little. “That’s fucking great.”

“She did,” Darcy said, offering to high-five him. He high fived her, then guided her hand down and looked at the ring.

“You’re gonna be great for my rep,” he told her. “The perfect girl.”

“I thought I wasn’t enough of a knockout?” Darcy said slyly. He grimaced.

“Sorry,” he said. She snickered. He frowned. “You’re just punishing me for that,” Brock insisted. He made a face. “For the record, I fucked that up. Misjudged you.”

“That’s okay,” Darcy said. “I wanted you to--I wear the sweaters because I hate how stupid men get when they see how great I look in other things.”

“Seriously?” he asked. She nodded. “You don’t want to use that?” Brock said.

“Use it?” Darcy asked, puzzled. “How?”

“Attention, gifts, an easier time with people,” he rattled off. “Everything beautiful women get?”

“From shallow, gross dudes? No, thank you,” she told him. “I want to be loved for my mind, not my tatas.”

“Sure,” Brock said, looking at her like she was an alien. “Your mind.”

“I happen to be a very intelligent poli sci major with a fondness for those three flavor holiday popcorn tins and Scooby Doo, I think those are desirable qualities in a girlfriend,” she said. He snorted. “You don’t agree?”

“Lewis, the reason you’re single is that nobody ever finds out about your deep inner qualities if you don’t get their attention in the first place,” he scolded.

“Pffhttt,” Darcy said. “Cynic.”

“I’m telling you that to help you,” he said. “Don’t listen to anybody who tells you that men aren’t visual.”

“Everyone’s visual,” she argued. “But not everyone’s shallow.” 

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You say that just like you say you don’t wear jewelry, but you look at that ring every five seconds.”

“It’s pretty!” Darcy said, blushing. “Okay, maybe I like jewelry, I just can’t afford it.”

“Get out there, dress better,” he said, “and people will take care of that for you.” He gestured with his fork, then went back to his salmon.

“Ughhhhh, so obnoxious,” she murmured.

Darcy changed for bed in the bathroom and came back out in her yoga pants and one of Brock’s t-shirts. He had already made himself a bed on the floor. She piled her hair on top of her head with a scrunchy. “Interesting,” Brock said. “Maybe that hairstyle is why you’re single? Or your socks?” Darcy had on milk and cookies socks.

“This hairstyle keeps my curls pretty,” she sassed him. “It’s called pineappling. And my socks are fun.”

“Uh-huh. Very attractive,” he said.

“You care too much about what other people think,” Darcy said.

“Excuse me?” Brock said.

“You’re always worried about what other people think is impressive or sexually attractive?” Darcy suggested.

“And you don’t?” he said.

“I like what I like and I do things mostly for my own happiness,” she explained. “I like pants that are comfortable and fun socks. I think you’d be happier if you thought about your own wants more.”

“My wants?” Brock said. He looked incredulously at her.

“Yeah.”

“I want to sleep in a damn bed,” he complained. “That’s one of my wants.” She sighed.

“Get in bed, you manipulator,” Darcy said. “But if you touch my boobs, I tase you, got it?”

“Yes, honey,” he said in a bored husband voice.

Darcy couldn’t help it: she burst out laughing.

* * *

Darcy was half-asleep when the shades over the window were pulled up. “Ugh, Rumlow, why are you blinding me at the buttcrack of dawn?” she groaned, squinting. Without her glasses, all she could see was a figure by the window.

“It’s nine am,” Natasha Romanoff said. “Your fiancé did leave at the buttcrack of dawn, however.”

“Oh, hi, Nat,” Darcy said, fumbling for her glasses. The redhead resolved in front of her. She was smiling down at Darcy. “He’s gone?”

“He left you a note,” Nat said. “Are you having fun already?”

“Huh?” Darcy asked. When Nat lifted an eyebrow at the rumpled bedsheets, she made a face. “No. He just wanted me to sleep here to make it more convincing. I just wiggle in my sleep, okay?”

“I see,” Nat said. She was almost grinning.

“It is not like that,” Darcy said. “Besides, he’s clearly hung up on his ex.” She swung her feet out of bed and moved into the bathroom. “Everything I do, he compares to her. If someone really liked him, they’d be so jealous of her by now,” Darcy called through the door. Natasha made a nonchalant noise. When Darcy came out, she was looking at the dress hanging on the armoire. “He loved your dress, though--he thinks I should have one in every color,” she told Natasha. 

“That’s promising,” Nat said smoothly.

“What does his note say?” Darcy wondered. Nat passed it to her. Darcy huffed. Scrawled on hotel stationary was one line: _Get your nails done._ “He’s such an ass,” she said. “He wants to take me to buy me a new, sexy girl wardrobe this weekend, too. We spent hours arguing over the ring, it’ll be a nightmare to find clothes.”

“I’ll take you today,” Nat said. “Much easier.”

“I wish, but he’s supposed to pay for it,” Darcy said.

“He left a card for your nails,” Nat said, holding up a credit card. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. She looked from Nat to the card. She was thinking. “It would be so much easier with you. He’s so opinionated.” She grinned. “Ask permission or beg forgiveness?”

“I like neither,” Nat said.

“Okay,” Darcy said, nodding. She paused and looked at Nat. "Can you tell me about Miranda?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory Darcy ring inspo--something like this:
> 
>   
>   
>    
> And this dress, of course:  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/539024649150974456/


	3. Shopping for...Something?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Miranda is a very...distinctive person,” Nat said, as they threaded through DC traffic in her black sportscar. Darcy looked over, uncertain.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “Does that mean she’s good or bad? Spell it out for me?”

“She’s a very talented professional, very accomplished. She runs the SHIELD division for art and artefact crimes,” Nat explained. “Double degrees in art and law,” she added. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. “So, good at her job?”

“Very good,” Nat said. “Fury gives her a lot of leeway, she thrives. But maybe not so good at relationships. She’s very non-conformist. I’m surprised she’s even getting married,” Nat said. “Doesn’t seem like her style, really.”

“That explains the unusual ring,” Darcy said. “That’s all I know about her, that ring.”

“It’s James de Givenchy,” Nat said. At Darcy’s blank look, she went on. “He’s Givenchy’s nephew, he does very avant garde jewelry.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “That sounds...nice?”

“You think it’s ugly, don’t you?” Nat said.

“Yes,” Darcy confessed, laughing. “I do, sorry. It looks sharp and uncomfortable.”

“Well, Miranda likes sharp and uncomfortable, I think,” Nat said. “She wears a lot of black, her style is very angular and modern.” Darcy worried her lip.

“I’m glad he doesn’t want me to dress like her,” she said. “I can’t wear things like that.”

“No,” Nat said. “I don’t think you’d be happy.”

“What does the anti-Miranda wear?” Darcy wondered aloud.

“That’s an interesting question,” Nat said, taking an turn off into a shopping center. “Why don’t we figure it out?”

It turned out that the anti-Miranda wore a lot of soft things---Darcy trailed Nat as the redhead picked out clingy v-neck sweaters, wrap tops, and curve-hugging pants made of stretchy material. Everything seemed designed to play up Darcy’s shape without making her feel constrained or uncomfortable. “I love the colors you like,” Darcy said, looking at the shirts in her arms.There was a raspberry, a crimson, and a soft pink. Nat had picked out several shirts that mirrored the neckline of last night’s dress.

“They suit your skintone,” Nat said. “You want cool shades of red that flatter your coloring.” She held up a top and pointed to a nearby mirror. “See how this brings out your lips? You want colors that echo the color of your features. We should probably find you some things in blue to bring out your eyes.” She looked thoughtful. “And purples,” she added.

“Oh,” Darcy said, looking at her reflection. “I never really thought about it.” She only vetoed a sapphire blue sleeveless shirt with a high neckline. “I’m not crazy about crew necks and turtlenecks,” she confessed. “But everything else I like.” 

“Try them on,” Nat said, handing her a purple scoop neck. “I’ve made sure all your pants are basically yoga pants, just so you’re comfortable.”

“Bless you,” Darcy said. 

“But I think we should look at belts to define your waist,” Nat said through the dressing room door. “All the wraps will define themselves, but the scoop necks will need a belt.”

“Belts?” Darcy said, mystified. None of the pants had loops? Where was she supposed to put a belt?

“Trust me,” Nat said. “Belts and more supportive bras.”

“You lured me in with the comfortable clothes, didn’t you?” Darcy said through the door. “This is the torture part, right?”

“It’s not literal torture,” Nat said.

“I’m not doing Spanx. I refuse!” Darcy yelled. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Nat asked.

“I just saw a price tag,” Darcy said. She opened the door a crack. “Are you sure we can spend this much---?”

“It’s fine,” Nat said. “He can afford it. Keep trying them on. I’m going to get you some date outfits.”

“These aren’t the date outfits?” Darcy said. “That sweater---one sweater---is eighty-nine dollars!”

“No,” Nat said, clearly amused. “These are your everyday clothes.”

“You’re kidding,” Darcy said. She was rewarded with a tiny laugh as Nat walked away. She shut the door, feeling odd. “My life is so weird,” Darcy muttered, trying not to look at how pale and fleshy she was in the terrible lighting of the dressing room. She decided, however, that she loved the cashmere wrap blouses that Nat had chosen. “You look good,” she told her reflection in a deeply cut raspberry colored sweater, wiggling. 

“I have dresses,” Nat said through the door.

“I had no idea that wrap sweaters looked so great with boobs,” Darcy called out happily. She stuck her head out. “Can’t I just be sexier sweater girl?”

“Try these on,” Nat ordered, clearly not falling for it.

“Boooooo,” Darcy said. 

“You’ll look even better when we get you properly sized for bras,” Nat said, clearly messing with her.

“Damn it,” Darcy said.

“Hold on, I’ll get the bra fitter while you try those on,” Nat said. Darcy looked at the dresses in her arms and sighed.

“I deserve something for myself after that,” Darcy said, as they carried multiple shopping bags towards the exit. She’d gone through the uncomfortable experience of having a sales person size her and declare her an 36H. Then they’d had to find bras in H sizes. “That bra specialist was, at most, a B cup.”

“So?” Nat said.

“It just feels more insulting, somehow. She had me lift my boobs a little to measure my ribcage!” Darcy said. A passing shopper stared.

“That just means you need more support,” Nat said calmly. Darcy was going to say something sarcastic, but then she saw the beauty section and got sidetracked.

“Oooh. He can buy me lipstick. Or perfume,” she said, veering that way. Nat laughed. “I deserve something really fun,” Darcy said. She drifted towards the perfumes, spritzing and smelling test strips.

“Chanel?” Nat suggested. 

“Maybe,” Darcy said. “He probably wants me to wear something fancy, but tasteful, right? Like this?” She held up a bottle of J’adore and sniffed. Then she frowned. “I like it, I don’t really love it, though.” She walked around, surveying different cases and shelves. Then she saw the Donna Karans and stopped a salesperson. “Do they still make Cashmere Mist?” Darcy asked. There were no sample bottles on the counter.

“Um, yeah,” the salesperson said. “I’ve got one under the counter.” Nat had followed her and looked quizzical when the salesperson brought out the box and the sculptural, frosted bottle. 

“You like that?” Nat asked.

“My mom had some when I was young,” Darcy said wistfully. “She got one of those sets with four little bottles for Christmas? I use to go sneak sprays of this.” The powdery, warm fragrance had a fuzzy quality, like being wrapped in a soft sweater. Luxurious, yet cozy. Wearing it had made a young Darcy feel sophisticated without being uncomfortable. “I always wanted some. I wasn’t sure they still made it. My fiancé can buy me some as a gift,” Darcy reasoned out loud. She grinned at Nat. “What did he send me out for again?”

“A manicure,” Nat said. 

“There’s a nail salon on the other side of the plaza,” the salesperson said, ringing up Darcy’s perfume.

“Well, I guess we better go,” Darcy said. 

“We could look at more belts,” Nat said. She’d shown Darcy how she wanted her to wear them, over her tops to help cinch them and define her waist.

“No more belts,” Darcy said. “Four is enough.”

“Okay,” Nat said. When the salesperson looked at them quizzically, Darcy grinned.

“She’s helping me upgrade my wardrobe, she’s a very patient friend. Oh, you can help pick my nail color,” Darcy said to Nat. “I’ve never had a professional manicure.”

“Seriously?” the salesperson asked, looking shocked.

“I was very, very poor for a long time,” Darcy said, feeling oddly happy. She could always return things if Rumlow was mad about the money, but there was something thrilling about never looking at a price tag. It was entirely novel.

Her good mood lasted through a manicure, a spritz of her perfume, and part of lunch with Nat, until Darcy made the mistake of looking at Miranda’s social media. She was curious and Nat was friends with the lawyer. “Oh my God,” Darcy said, horrified. “You didn’t tell me she was cool!” 

“What?” Nat said, looking up from her lunch. 

“Miranda,” Darcy clarified. 

“Oh,” Nat said, shrugging. 

“Do you not see it?” Darcy asked. Miranda, Darcy had realized, was beautiful. So beautiful that she was able to pull off one of those messy shag haircuts that would’ve made Darcy look like she had a mullet. “She looks like that French actress...what’s her name? Stephanie something? Stephanie Szostak?” Darcy said. Natasha merely tilted her head and looked faintly puzzled. She wasn’t getting it, Darcy realized. “She flies planes!” she said.

“Lots of people at SHIELD are pilots,” Nat said.

“I’m not a pilot,” Darcy said, “and I don’t have cool tattoos.” She frowned. “Or know how to ride a motorcycle. Oh God,” she said. “She’s so much cooler than me, no wonder he keeps comparing us. And this guy she’s with...”

“Commander Ellis?” Nat said, then peered at the screen and nodded.

“He looks like a movie star version of a pilot,” Darcy said. There was caption on one of the photos about them fighting over who was the co-pilot. 

“Yes,” Nat said. Ellis had a kind of square-jawed, perfect handsomeness that made him stand out, even in a group. _Ellis,_ Darcy thought suddenly

“Is he related to the president?” she asked. Nat nodded. 

“He’s his nephew,” she told Darcy.

“Well, shit,” Darcy said.

“What?” Nat said.

“This woman is freaking cool,” Darcy said. “It will take Brock years to get over”--she scrolled, then stopped-- “the hot female pilot who also likes to go on motorcycle trips in North Africa and knows how to shoot a really big gun, but also looks like this in a dress.” She held up an image of Miranda and Ellis at some fancy event. “Especially since she left him for Commander Perfect Jawline,” Darcy added glumly. “That’s got to be messing with his head. I know it messed with my head when Ian left me for a tall, skinny blonde.”

“Ian left you for someone?” Nat said.

“For his college ex,” Darcy said. “Who was very posh and made me feel short and poor by comparison. Shit.”

“I think you’re projecting,” Nat said suddenly.

“What?” Darcy said.

“You’re projecting your feelings about you and Ian’s breakup and that woman--”

“Arabella,” Darcy supplied.

“Yes,” Nat said. “You’re projecting your feelings about Arabella onto Brock’s feelings about this situation.”

“He keeps talking about me being the anti-Miranda,” Darcy pointed out stubbornly.

“Yes,” Nat said. “But I don’t think you’re seeing the value in being the anti-Miranda?”

“Okay,” Darcy said slowly. “Tell me the value?”

“You have the advantage of being more traditionally feminine,” Nat said.

“Pffhtt,” Darcy began, but Nat waved her off.

“Both in terms of your looks and general hobbies,” Nat said. “And you’re younger and have friends who are also famous.”

“That doesn’t feel like a lot to brag about,” Darcy said. “So, I’ve got long hair and I haven’t done much with my life?” 

“When she looks at you, if she has any doubts about her decision to leave him, Miranda’s going to see a situation where her ex has moved on with someone young and smart and happy. Uncomplicated,” Nat said. “At least compared to her. Where she has a long history with him and they’ve fought over their differences and competing priorities, you’re going to seem like a clean slate.”

“And that’s good?” Darcy said. 

“My advice to you, if you want this to be a success, is to pretend that you’re happy and that your main priority in the relationship is to make him happy, too,” Nat suggested. It dawned on Darcy what Nat was saying and she stared, open-mouthed, for a long moment.

“You want me to be his big-boobed cheerleader,” she said. 

“That’s a simplification,” Nat said. She paused. “But yes.” 

“That will somehow make this woman insecure about me?” Darcy said dubiously.

“Possibly,” Nat said.

“I need a more detailed plan than that,” Darcy said. “Or some kind of inspiration.”

“Inspiration?” Nat said.

“I think I’d be better at pretending if I treat this like playing a character who isn’t me,” Darcy said slowly. “I can’t fake being happy when I don’t feel happy, but if this is a whole other persona...like Sasha Fierce?”

“Who?” Nat said.

“When Beyoncé started performing solo, to get over her stage fright, she invented this whole character, Sasha Fierce,” Darcy said. “Sasha’s not afraid to sing in front of thousands, she’s Sasha Fierce, you know? I need that.” She swirled her finger against her glass. “What kind of person would love Rumlow? Genuinely love him and throw themselves into a relationship with him without hesitation?”

“It is a challenge for the imagination,” Nat said. Darcy snorted--but she felt a strange sort of resistance, too. It bugged her all throughout lunch, like the answer was on the tip of her tongue. They were getting ready to leave the restaurant when it hit her. 

“Elizabeth Taylor,” Darcy said out loud. “That’s it. That’s my character.”

“What?” Nat said.

“Elizabeth Taylor liked these really passionate, complicated alcoholic men. She wasn’t interested in someone who was too easy-going because she got bored. She liked drama and back and forth,” Darcy said. “She would’ve _loved_ Brock Rumlow. She would’ve cussed him out and then jumped his bones.”

“Really?” Nat said, looking doubtful. 

“I wonder where Brock is right now?’ Darcy wondered. “Could you find out?”

“Sure,” Nat said, expression shifting.

“I’m going to go change,” Darcy said, getting up. She would get one of the outfits out of Nat’s trunk, she thought. 

“Can I help?” Nat asked.

  
  


* * *

_I can do this, I can do this,_ Darcy repeated to herself. She’d actually changed in the restaurant bathroom and was now walking into SHIELD with Nat. “Doing fine?” Nat said quietly. 

“Yes,” Darcy said, resisting the urge to tug at the revealing top that Nat had picked out. It was a raspberry colored ballet wrap that plunged low over her chest. She’d paired it with a pair of dark, snug leggings. Darcy was sweating. She smelled like Cashmere Mist. She was probably crazy. Several passing agents seemed to gawk at her boobs. She hoped a nipple hadn’t made a dash for freedom. “Where’s his office?” she asked Nat.

“Eighth floor,” Nat said. They got on the elevator.

“Are people looking at me or is it my imagination?” Darcy said.

“It’s not your imagination,” Nat said, smiling slightly.

“Okay,” Darcy said slowly. She checked her cleavage quickly. The elevator doors opened. There was a huddle of men several feet down the hallway. Brock was one of them, Darcy realized. She recognized his back. The men facing her must’ve said something, because he turned to look over his shoulder, then his expression changed. It was a fleeting shift before he schooled himself into a smile. “Babe,” Darcy said, trying to put as much warmth into her voice and smile as possible. For a moment, she almost faltered as they neared each other, but she pretended it was partially her eagerness to get to him and reached out with both arms. Darcy hoped it looked theatrical. She put her hands on his chest and stood on her tiptoes, craning her chin up. _Brief kiss,_ she thought, curling her fingers against his SHIELD t-shirt, _make it look good._ She pressed her mouth against his as lightly as possible. For a second, Brock was still. Then he seemed to come to life, yanking her against him. She was so startled, she automatically pulled back a fraction--and he chased her mouth, following her movement. _Relax,_ Darcy reminded herself, inhaling gently and trying to ease the tension in her shoulders. He sucked on her top lip. _Oh,_ she thought, feeling him gently cup the back of her head. His mouth was warm. Eager, even. “Mmmm,” Darcy said, when he pulled back. His expression was unreadable. “Missed you,” she lied breathlessly. She was aware that Nat was nearby, but couldn’t look at her.

“Yeah?” he said, smirking. There were snickers in the hallway. He looked over his shoulder. 

“Come and meet Darcy, assholes,” Brock called out. 

“Have fun,” Nat said, melting away in a very spylike manner. Darcy nodded. 

She clung to Brock during the introductions, rubbing his chest and making sure to pretend that he was all she wanted to look at. He’d automatically put his arm around her, but Darcy squeezed in as close as possible. She thought she’d seen Elizabeth Taylor do that. Gazing up adoringly. So she treated him like he was the most fascinating man on the planet, hanging onto him physically and verbally. “You good, sweetheart?” he said, at one point. 

“Absolutely,” Darcy said, smiling at him. He kept looking at her. When he looked away from her for a second, Darcy had a bolt of inspiration. She stretched up and kissed him on the cheek quickly, laughing. He looked surprised, but also a little pleased. He was a great actor, she thought, slightly mesmerized by the subtle nuances of his expression. So she did it again the moment he looked away. The agents standing around laughed. “Excuse me,” she told the SHIELD agent he’d just introduced her to, “I just can’t help it.”

“She’s very in love with me,” Brock cracked.

“I am!” Darcy said insistently. “So in love.” She reached up and raked her hands through his hair. “You’re _wonderful._ Just wonderful.”

“I’m a little worried about her,” he said, doing that great pleased-chagrined face again.

“Oh, really?” Darcy said, making a face. She beamed at him--and was rewarded with a slow, wide smile. 

“Yes, really,” he said. She leaned in closer to him.

“When do I get to see your office?” Darcy asked, pitching her voice in a whisper. There was laughter from the group around him. He opened his mouth in surprise.

“Take her, you idiot,” one of the agents said.

“Please?” Darcy said, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Sure,” Brock said. She didn’t detach herself as they walked towards his office. Instead, she dotted him with kisses. 

“Dear God, she’s gorgeous,” one of the agents said from behind them, just barely audible.

“Did you hear that?” Darcy said teasingly.

“I did,” he said, pitching his voice louder. “Nobody better get any ideas.” There was distant laughter. She kept nuzzling him as they met several agents. 

“Hello,” Darcy said, when one stared.

“Uh, hi,” he said. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

“Thanks, man,” Brock said. They got to a door at the end of the hallway. “This is it,” he said, looking down at Darcy, as he pushed the door open.

“Ooohhhhh,” she said. “Can we close those blinds?” She expected him to laugh. Instead, he kissed her as he pulled her inside. The door clicked shut behind them and he reached over with one hand, mouth still on hers, to flip off the lights and close the hall-facing blinds. She was enjoying the feel of his mouth when he abruptly let her go and pulled away. Darcy slid her arms off his chest, not certain where to look. Brock cleared his throat.

“Nice work,” he said dryly, not making eye contact with her. She nodded, moving over the chair in front of his desk.

“Natasha and I went shopping,” she said. Then she made a face. “In addition to having our nails done.” He sat down behind the desk. She reached into her purse for his credit card. “If I’ve spent too much money,” she began, “I’ll take some things back.” She slid it across the desk.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he said, waving dismissively. She couldn’t figure out his mood or how she should behave. He looked at her. “You spend a lot?”

“Hundreds,” she said dryly. “Natasha has expensive taste.” She was hoping to irritate him a little.

“When you look good, I look good,” he said, frustratingly untroubled. “Keep the card.” He pushed it back. 

“Okay,” she said, leaning forward and swiping it off the desk. Darcy tucked it in back in her purse and curled her legs up in the chair. She waited for him to say something else, maybe discuss the situation. There was an awkward silence. He scrolled with his mouse. She realized he kept looking at her and not the computer screen. She didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, however. She was a little miffed that he’d dropped her so abruptly when she’d been fulfilling her end of the deal so well. She was a great actress! He could be a little more complimentary.

“You have fun with Romanoff?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “I--you, actually--bought some perfume. I liked that.” He nodded. 

“You smell good,” Brock said. He sounded flat and route. Not that she cared what he thought. Not really.

“Thanks,” Darcy said. She looked around the room. There were bookshelves. “How long should I stay?” she asked. “What’s the time estimate on a workplace hookup?”

“I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes,” he said.

“I’ll go in eighteen,” she said breezily. 

“Uh-huh,” he said. She stared down at her ring, watching it twinkle in the dim light from the outside-facing window behind Brock’s back. Darcy kept her nails short. They gleamed with pink confetti now. She had almost gone for a nude polish that seemed tasteful and bridal, but Nat had convinced her to go with the shade she liked, a polish called A Cut Above. She was certain it wasn’t what Brock would’ve chosen for her. He worked on his computer, clicking and scrolling. She listened to him type, but kept her eyes on her phone--or her ring. The new manicure did look nice. Natasha had been right to encourage her to choose the fun option. She turned her hand back and forth. “You think you can keep this up?” Brock said suddenly.

“What?” Darcy said.

“Pretending you like me this much,” he said. She realized he was watching her. He was frowning.

“I like a challenge. What, you aren’t having fun?,” Darcy countered. She didn’t know where the words came from, she just said them. He tilted his head at her, but she didn’t continue. Instead, Darcy reached down and undid the tie on her wrap blouse, opening it briefly. He might see her bra and a flash of her belly, but whatevs.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“Re-tying this like I did it in a hurry,” Darcy said, grinning. She made sure the new knot was a little messy. Then she tipped her head forward, shaking out her hair and roughing up the roots and part a little. When she sat up, he was grinning at her. “My eighteen minutes are up,” she said, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. 

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

“Any idea where Nat is?” she asked. He followed her to the door. 

“Try the tech room downstairs,” Brock said. He put his arm around her waist and backed her against the door.

“This isn’t getting me out the door,” Darcy pointed out, as he leaned in. Brock smirked. He put one hand on the door, next to her shoulder.

“It’s only been seventeen minutes, give me time,” he said, kissing her. She didn’t stop him, but after a moment, she wiggled a little, pushing up his shirt, and he drew back. Taking advantage of his relaxed body language, she ducked under his arm and turned the door handle. 

“You have a meeting,” she reminded him in a low voice, when he put his hand over hers. 

“Yeah,” he said, slipping his arm around her to back her out the door. He swung it open and Darcy pasted on her brightest grin. They traded kisses back and forth in the hallway. “Sweetheart, I miss you already,” Brock said.

“Ohhh, good,” Darcy said. “I miss you more.” She tried to sound purring and smitten. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again. The scarred texture at the edge of his lips gave their kisses friction, she realized. That was what made them feel so good. She was aware of agents walking around them. “Mmm,” she said, blinking, after a moment.

“You wanna get dinner tonight?” he said, holding her hand. 

“Yeah.” She nodded and straightened his shirt. As she made to move away, he didn’t let her go. Instead, he looked at her hand.

“Glitter, huh?” Brock said.

“Yes,” Darcy said, smiling more genuinely. _Take that, uptight man,_ she thought. 

“I like it,” he said. Then he raised her hand to his lips. The gesture was so gentle and romantic, she was momentarily discombobulated. “Dinner at six?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” she said, as he let go of her hand. She took a step away, looked back at him, and then impulsively stepped back, hugging him and kissing him a last time. “Love you,” she told Brock in a heated voice. He nodded and mouthed something that could have been _love you_ back, expression ambiguous.

It was what Liz Taylor would do, she thought. Also, she’d recognized Commander Ellis in the group of men standing a few feet away, watching them.

* * *

“Hey, mate. You drinking with Foxtrot tonight?” Rollins said to Brock after the meeting. Brock looked at him, frowning slightly. Over Jack’s shoulder, he could see Maria Hill and Ellis talking. Some of the STRIKE teams had a regular night out at dive bar near the office. He was a regular, anyway. The last to leave normally...

“Nah,” he said, picking up his tablet. “Taking Darcy out to dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” Jack said.

“Slowing down, huh?” one of the agents across the conference table said to Brock. Brock shrugged, pulling a face. “Get used to it. Married guys can’t go out drinking every night, Rumlow!” the agent added, laughing. 

“Just because my exploits are famous--” Brock began.

“Notorious,” the female agent next to the first one said.

“---that don’t mean it’s every night,” Brock said. “You assholes.”

“Has anybody told your girl what a wreck you are?” another agent called out.

“Everybody busting my balls today, huh?” Brock said. “Fuck all of you.” There was laughter in the room. He glanced at Jack. The Australian’s expression was strange. “We should all get together,” Brock said, “bring Roger, have dinner sometime when we’re all in town.” Roger was Jack’s husband. He was an art dealer. “I think Roger would like Darcy,” Brock added. “You’d like Darcy.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack said. He paused. “I’m glad she’s a good influence on you,” he said, patting Brock’s shoulder awkwardly. Brock snorted.

“A good influence?” he said to Jack.

“She’s hot as hell,” one of the agents across the table murmured. “He’s whipped now.” In response, Brock laughed.

“Hey, now, I’ve never been whipped in my damn life,” he said, wagging a finger at the agent. “I’m just keeping it in check.” 

“In check?” someone else said, sounding dubious.

“That’s right,” Brock announced, “all my shit’s in check.” He looked at Rollins. “Text me about dinner,” he said, slapping Jack on the shoulder. He walked out of the room without looking Ellis’s way. 

* * *

“Thank you,” Darcy told their waiter, as he sat down their plates that night. Brock echoed her thanks in a lower voice. He had been quiet all evening. Darcy didn’t get it, but she wasn’t going to argue with a peaceful, pleasant dinner. Probably he was tired. Or was he worried about money? He had paid off her student loans before they’d gone to dinner, so she felt obligated to be pleasant. She made sure to speak occasionally and smile as if everything was fine. They’d talked about running into his SHIELD coworkers, so Darcy tried to seem like they were happy in public. “This looks delicious,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. She picked up her fork and smiled genuinely when her ring flashed in the restaurant’s dim light. “You really like that, don’t you?” Brock said suddenly.

“I love it,” Darcy said. She ate a forkful of orecchiette. It was one of her favorite pastas: the shape made a perfect little bowl for the garlicky butter sauce. “Mmmm.”

“You need more,” he said.

“Hmm?” Darcy said, looking at him. For a moment, she thought he meant the food. “No, this is a enough,” she said, grinning.

“More jewelry,” he said. 

“What?” Darcy said. “Oh, no I don’t.” He shook his head. “Really,” Darcy said, leaning in, “you have spent enough, Brock. More than enough.” He snorted. She watched him eat for a moment. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Darcy asked.

“Nope,” he said lightly.

“But--but,” Darcy said, “how can you afford it?” He glanced up at her, smirking. 

“You’re worried, huh?” Brock said. She nodded. He turned his fork. “After the HYDRA shit went down, I did a little undercover project,” he said slowly. “Stealing back missing SHIELD equipment.”

“Oh,” Darcy said.

"You remember Crossbones?" he said. Darcy gaped at him.

"That--that was you?" 

“And I got five percent of the value recovered as a fee,” he told her. “So you don’t need to worry, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” Darcy repeated. She looked back down at her plate. “Okay,” she said, making a face. He laughed. 

“I appreciate that about you,” he said dryly. “That you’re more interested in me buying you devil’s food cake than diamonds.” He sounded sarcastic.

“Are you negging my poverty?” Darcy said. “Okay, fine. Open the door at Bergdorf’s and I’ll fall in,” she told him. She could spend his money. His merc money, it dawned on her.

“Say what now?” Brock asked her.

“It’s something Lauren Bacall says in _How To Marry a Millionaire_ when she’s engaged to a rich guy,” Darcy said. “I’m sort of paraphrasing.”

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“It’s a great movie, very funny,” Darcy said. “I always relate to Marilyn Monroe because she’s near-sighted and likes the guy who says she’s attractive with her glasses.”

“That so?” he said casually. She thought he was trolling her, but she didn’t care. 

“And she wears a comfy bathrobe. I love a comfy bathrobe,” Darcy said. She grinned at him.  
  


* * *

“What do you think?” Brock asked her. He’d held up a fringed silver earring next to her face. His other hand rubbed her shoulder gently. They’d gone back to the jewelry store. He’d talked in her into something else to go with her ring. A necklace, earrings, whatever she wanted.

“It’s beautiful,” Darcy admitted. The earring swayed in the mirror on the counter. She was wildly confused by what was happening. It wasn’t the shopping, it was Brock’s behavior. He kept touching her--rubbing her shoulders, squeezing her, behaving affectionately--even though no one around needed to be impressed. Darcy had started to wonder if it was really the excuse to be touchy-feely that he wanted. Their made-up situation was a safe way for him to give affection, she realized. Or get it. Otherwise, they’d go their separate ways tonight and he’d be sitting in a hotel room. Alone. It made her feel sympathy for him. Her emotions were all over the place, she thought. There was so much going on that she didn't feel like she understood.

“You want them?” Brock asked.

“Um,” Darcy began, “hmmm.” She toyed with the other earring on the counter. The saleswoman smiled. It was like she could see Brock was here to spend money, Darcy thought.

“We can look at something else?” Brock offered, turning his head. Impulsively, Darcy kissed his cheek. When she pulled back, he blinked.

“Yes,” she said, thinking _isn't this how I'm supposed to behave?_

“Yes what?”

“I want the earrings,” she said, leaning against him for a second in a pantomime of a jewelry ad. “Spoil your future wife,” she joked, feeling weird. 

“You want the necklace, too?” Brock said, expression serious.

“What necklace?” she asked.

“The one you liked when we bought the ring,” he said. 

“We also have a necklace that matches the earrings,” the salesperson said. Darcy was staring at Brock.

"Let's look at that," he said.

“You’re kidding,” Darcy said. He tilted his head at her. “You’re not kidding,” Darcy said.

She was wearing the earrings when he walked her back to the car. “You like them?” he said. He’d basically picked them out, she realized.

“I love the way they swing,” Darcy said, turning her head back and forth. “Swish-swish.” He laughed.

“You sure you don’t want the necklace?” he offered.

“Nope, I’m emotionally attached to these,” she said.

“Finally, I pick out things a woman likes,” he said dryly. 

“Oh,” Darcy said, not sure about the subtext. Was he saying Miranda hadn’t liked his gifts? She thought about Miranda’s engagement ring. That big pear shaped diamond with a band like a snake’s tail. One in a million people might pick that, she thought. The fights they’d had, probably. “Hey,” she said, stopping next to the car and turning to face him. “Did you want to go back to your place, watch movies or something?” she offered. “I could make you watch some really old ones.” He grinned and shook his head. “Okay, fine,” Darcy said, tugging on his forearms a little. “Nothing older than you, then. Just a sightly old movie?”

“Lewis,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to fuck me because I buy you things, all right?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liz Taylor & Richard Burton providing Darcy inspiration by being super-tactile in tons of photos: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/132363676537026146/ 
> 
> Obligatory fashion notes: 
> 
> The earrings! I saw them IRL recently and...swoon: https://www.gabrielny.com/product-earring/eg13916svjws
> 
> If I've described a ballet wrap top badly, this is my inspo. I feel like v-necks, wraps, and scoop necks are the most comfy and flattering if you've been blessed by the Tata Fairy. Crew necks squish you: https://ripleyrader.com/products/pebble-ballet-wrap-sweater


	4. All Fancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“You asshole!” Darcy said, blurting out the words without thinking. “That is _not_ what I meant.”

“I’m just saying--” Brock began.

“I’m trying to be nice to you,” Darcy said, “because I--because--” She stopped, realizing she couldn’t finish the sentence without hurting his ego. His massive, stupid man ego. He must’ve mistaken her hesitation for something more emotional.

“Look, you were and Foster were broke for a long time,” Brock said, putting his hands on her shoulders gently. “I read your file. So, I just don’t want you to feel obligated or some shit.” He paused as she stared. “I mean, I get it. Money makes you feel good, so you feel good about me, those feelings have to go somewhere, but that doesn’t mean--” he said, rubbing her shoulders. Darcy made an inarticulate distress noise, like a broken alarm, at the words _money makes you feel good_. 

“You get it?” she said, finding her words. She was so incredulous, she repeated the sentence. “You get it?” she said, more angrily. She shrugged off his touch and put her hands on her hips. “You thought I was confused about what was going on? Like I’d just drop my panties for anybody who bought me a nice dinner?”

“Uhhhh--” Brock said, blinking. She barrelled on.

“Because I thought I was offering to spend time with you so you wouldn’t have to go home and be alone,” Darcy said. “I was worried about you being depressed.” He looked at her in surprise and her voice rose. “Because you’re a sad man who lives in a freaking hotel!” she yelled. “I actually made the mistake of feeling _sorry_ for you!”

“You feel sorry for me?” he said looking stunned and then offended. 

“I used to,” Darcy said, stomping towards her car door, “not anymore!” She shot him the bird over the roof of her car and yanked the driver’s side door open.

“Fuck you,” he said back hotly.

“I promise, that’s something you’ll _never_ have to worry about!” Darcy said, slamming the door. She backed up a little recklessly and left him standing in the empty parking space, looking furious. She muttered to herself as she drove home. “Asshole.” Darcy flicked the radio knob at a red light. “Asshole with the emotional range of a clothespin,” she seethed out loud. “Why did I even bother confusing him with a human?” 

That was when she realized that the person in a car in the other lane was staring at her. 

* * *

“I’m so mad at him,” she told Jane. She’d called the scientist after she got home and changed into her pajamas. Her phone was sitting on the bathroom counter now.

“He’s an asshole,” Jane said, echoing over speaker phone. 

“I just can’t believe he said that,” Darcy fumed, rummaging in her bathroom drawers and taking out a spray bottle and a tub of deep conditioner. “What kind of jerk says that?” She misted her hair with water and scrunched angrily.

“What’s that noise?” Jane said.

“It’s one of those new continuous mister bottles, I’m deep conditioning,” Darcy said. “You really need to wet your hair before you deep condition, so the conditioner locks in the water.” 

“I only understood half of that,” Jane said. Darcy sighed. “I was kidding, you’ve given me the lecture about deep conditioning plenty. The entire time we were in New Mexico!” Jane said.

“I’m not upset that you have perfect hair even though you don’t work at it,” she told Jane, “but yes, it’s totally unfair. I’m just frustrated about this situation. He’s so...rude!”

“Yeah,” Jane said. There was something in her tone. Darcy stopped scrunching deep conditioner into her wet hair. 

“Yeah what?” she asked the scientist.

“Are you maybe a _little_ insulted that he isn’t attracted to you?” Jane said. 

“Jane!” Darcy said.

“I’m a little insulted on your behalf, he should be in love with you,” Jane said. “He’s single, you’re single and you’re way too good for him. He should be following you around like a puppy.”

“Nice save,” Darcy said, making a face in the mirror. “But you should see his ex. She’s like Sif meets Angelina Jolie. Way cooler than me. Total badass babe.”

“Please, you are beautiful and smart and have a great sense of humor,” Jane insisted. 

“We aren’t going to reconcile this one, Janeybug,” Darcy said. “His ex is like _Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”_ She and Jane had a long-running disagreement over the holiday song. Jane thought it sounded rapey, while Darcy insisted it was a tongue-in-cheek debate between two people who really wanted to spend the night together, disapproving aunts and midcentury sex shaming aside.

“Oh God, not that song,” Jane said. 

“Should I return the money? Or pay him back the student loan balance somehow?” Darcy fretted out loud. She’d been thinking about it.

“No!” Jane said. Her voice went thoughtful. “It’s not like he can legally get it back from you, I don’t think--” 

“Ughhhh, this just sucks,” Darcy said, massaging her damp hair. “And I’m out of heat caps.”

“Oh, boo,” Jane said. “You always look like a cute baked potato. I miss those in space.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “But Quill would probably wear one for you, if you told him Thor did it, too.”

“True,” Jane said. “Do you have saran wrap?” 

“Good idea,” Darcy said, going to the kitchen to look. She did have saran wrap. She stuck some on her head as they talked about Jane’s newest discovery. Jane stayed on the phone with her until Darcy got sleepy. They hung up and Darcy nodded off on the couch. She’d put one of those Netflix crackling birchwood fireplace scenes on, just because she felt comforted by the sound of Jane’s voice and a fire. It reminded her of Norway.

  
  


When Darcy woke up, the sarah wrap had half-slid off her head, her fireplace had become a screensaver, and she had three missed calls from Rumlow. He hadn’t left messages. “I am so not prepared for this,” she told herself, putting the phone down. She shuffled into the kitchen for coffee. Even after two cups, she dreaded talking to Rumlow. Instead, she avoided returning his calls, rationalizing that if he really wanted something, he would’ve left a message. Avoiding his calls necessitated doing something--anything--else to keep busy. So, she showered and practiced some Youtube vintage hair tutorials, watched reruns of _CSI: Miami,_ and called Jane too much. 

“Why do you even watch that show?” Jane said.

“I don’t know, David Caruso’s sunglasses thing is totally cheesy and I find that compelling?” Darcy suggested. “Also, baby Aaron Paul is in this one.” She sighed. “I think one of my nails is chipped.” Her beautiful fake engagement ring seemed especially mocking. He was probably calling to demand it back. And she’d need to return all the clothes. Even her favorite new sweaters.

“Are you avoiding Rumlow or something?” Jane said, guessing what Darcy hadn’t wanted to tell her all afternoon.

“Nooo,” Darcy said, frowning at the phone on the coffee table.

“We’ve been on the phone all day,” Jane said. “Like, the entire day. You had to charge your phone.”

“Okay. Maybe, I’m avoiding him, but my hair looks like Diana Dors now, so it’s productive avoidance,” Darcy countered. “I’ll send you a selfie, it turned out good.”

“Sure,” Jane said. “However--”

“I hate when you say however,” Darcy grumbled.

“You can’t just avoid him for the rest of your life,” Jane said.

“I could ghost!” Darcy said. “Like Casper, just wooo, no more Darcy. I vanish, he never finds me. I get to keep my sweaters, even if I gotta change my name.”

“He works for SHIELD, that seems unlikely,” Jane said.

“I’ll call...tomorrow,” Darcy said. “He’s called three times, but he didn’t leave a message, so…”

“You chicken!” Jane said.

“Shut up,” Darcy said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay, I really think we need to find you some space meds,” Jane said. “It’s so great here. So beautiful. And you’d like everyone. You and Mantis would totally gel, Quill would love all your music, and I know you’d be really helpful with Groot.” She lowered her voice. “He’s going through a whole teenage thing.”

“Trees have a teenage thing?” Darcy said.

“Oh my God, yes. I need you here, honestly. You know what to say, I never know what to say,” Jane said. Darcy and Jane were talking about the Milano’s next stop when the doorbell rang. 

“Hold on,” Darcy said, “lemme answer that.” It was a delivery person. “Thank you,” she said, taking the object he offered.

“What is it?” Jane asked, as Darcy shut the door and locked it. 

“A popcorn tin. Did you send it?” Darcy said. She’d assumed Jane or her mom had sent it.

“Nope,” Jane said.

“Oh,” Darcy said, looking for the card. She found it taped to the lid and opened the small envelope. “Shit,” she said.

“What?” Jane said, sounding curious.

“Brock sent me popcorn,” Darcy said, puzzled. There was a simple message. _We need to talk. Call me._ She read it to Jane. “What does that mean?”

“He wants to talk?” Jane said.

“Shut up,” Darcy said.

“I was being serious!” Jane said.

“I thought you were sarcasming me,” Darcy said. “What do I do?”

“He doesn’t sound mad. Nobody sends popcorn when they’re mad,” Jane said.

“Pfffhht,” Darcy said, blowing out air. 

“Call him.” Jane’s voice was firm. 

“I don’t wanna,” Darcy said.

“Well, I’m hanging up, so you’ll have to,” Jane said smugly. She giggled over Darcy’s protests.

“Jane, nooooo---” Darcy said, as the call ended with a click. “Damn it,” Darcy muttered. She looked at her phone forlornly. She wasn’t ready to talk. Or give back all the goodies. She opened the popcorn tin and shoved some cheddar cheese corn into her mouth, chewing miserably. It was really good popcorn. Who sent popcorn when they wanted to end your pretend engagement, she wondered? 

Huffing out a sigh, Darcy decided to call. If she held onto her clothes or the ring any longer, she’d be even more attached, she reasoned. If he wanted them back, she’d pack them up and take them back to him. Possibly throw them at him. That thought made her brave enough to dial. He answered on the second ring. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said in a calm voice. He almost sounded happy.

“You wanted me to call?” she said. “I got your popcorn message.”

“I thought you’d like popcorn, baby,” he said. He was almost crooning. “I wish I coulda brought it myself, but I’m working late tonight.” _Ah,_ Darcy thought. That explained the pleasant tone. He was somewhere he could be overheard.

“Okay,” she said.

“I’d love for you to come and see me,” he said, as if she asked. “I miss you, too.”

“Do you now?” Darcy said.

“You know I do, baby,” Brock said. “We’re running this exercise for another hour, but I could make time. You know I’d make time for you.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. He was pretending to be so smooth! It was ridiculous. He was the least smooth guy on the planet, she thought. “So, you want me to stop by a seven so we can talk?” she said, crossing her arms. She couldn’t keep the attitude out of her voice.

“That would be perfect, baby,” he said.

“Fine,” Darcy said. “I’ll be there.”

“As long as you can handle me being all sweaty,” he said, then chuckled. “You’re too good to me.”

“You asshole,” Darcy said.

“I love you, too,” he said before he hung up. 

“Shit,” Darcy said out loud. What had she walked into? She had to go see him tonight now. She was so stupid. She texted Jane.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** He wants to see me tonight?

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** That’s quick.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I’m returning the earrings and the ring tonight and sending back the clothes later.

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** Good for you. 

  
  


Darcy looked at the clothes in her closet and sighed. She’d really wanted to wear some of these. Nat had even mentioned having some of them tailored. It had been a nice idle dream, Darcy thought. All over now. But did it have to be? She decided to wear something new tonight, just to have the experience before he took them back. Did she want it to be one of the Roland Mouret dresses, she thought? Those were nice as hell. She thumbed past several cashmere sweaters, frowning, until she found the two dresses. The first one Nat had picked out was a long-sleeved model called the Ardon. It had a low neckline. She held it over herself and sighed in the mirror. But the second Mouret dress was the one she really coveted. It was a model called the Galaxy dress. It had a square neckline and the world’s sexiest cap sleeves. Darcy had liked the name at the store. And that was before she’d found out Dita von Teese had worn it. She pulled it out and held it over her body with a sigh of yearning. “You are toooooo beautiful to meeeeee,” she singsonged in the mirror, swaying with the dress. “Damn it. But you’re also too fancy for an office visit.” She put the Galaxy back and pulled out a more casual Ralph Lauren jersey dress. It was blue, had a faux wrap design, and three-quarter sleeves. She loved a good faux wrap and a three-quarter sleeve. Then she saw that she still had duckbill clips holding the s-shaped wave around her face. “Shit,” she said. “Hair, hair.” She left the dress on the bed and futzed with her retro set in the bathroom, fluffing and misting her hair with Elnett. The Youtube hair tutorials had worked, she realized with another pang of crankiness. Her hair would _never_ look this good when she really wanted it to, like on her next date. It was irritating how that worked. She got dressed and put her earrings in her purse, safely stowed in the store box. She could return them to Rumlow today. The ring, too, if he asked for it. 

By time she finished getting ready, Darcy felt a kind of nervous anticipation. But she looked great. She took a photo of herself in the mirror and texted Jane.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** I’m going. Also, I feel like Ava Gardner in _The Killers._ My hair is _fierce_.

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** Who is that? 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** If you listened to me, you’d know that. She was the second Mrs. Frank Sinatra and a total babe.

 **Let’s Get Astrophysical:** You look amazing, even if I don’t understand half the things you say. 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Thank you. I miss you!

Just to soothe her ego, Darcy posted the photo online and tagged Nat with a caption thanking her for being a good shopping buddy. She was headed out the door when her phone started pinging with a notification. She glanced at it, expecting it to be Jane or something, but the comment was from Rumlow.

_You look incredible. I’m a lucky guy._

“What are you doing?” Darcy muttered, wondering if he actually _wanted_ to keep the ruse going. She could understand not breaking character at work, but this was mystifying.

* * *

“How are things going with her?” Jack asked him, as Brock emerged from the showers, towel slung around his hips. 

“Fine,” Brock said, reaching into his locker. He put on briefs and pants silently, then looked around. Jack was tying his shoes on the bench. No one else was around, not this late. “We had a fight,” he muttered. Jack looked up. “I sent her some popcorn.”

“Popcorn?” Jack repeated. Brock was pulling a shirt on. 

“She’s pissed at me.”

“And you think popcorn will help?” Jack said, looking amazed.

“She likes it,” he said. He sighed at his reflection in the mirror inside the locker and raked a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

* * *

Darcy was waiting to go upstairs to his office at SHIELD when the elevator doors opened and he appeared—with several other agents. “Sweetheart,” Rumlow said, immediately embracing her. He kissed her before she could say anything. _Damn it,_ Darcy thought. She hated how nice it felt. Well, two could play this game. She leaned into the kiss, sliding her tongue between his lips. The arm around her waist tightened, probably in warning. _Gotcha,_ she thought gleefully. She could kiss and bail. That would show him. Rather than recoiling, though, he responded. He was actually French kissing her by the elevator, she realized, feeling his tongue. He made an inchoate disappointed noise when she pulled back quickly. 

“Hey,” Darcy said, with false breathiness, when they parted. She frowned slightly. “I thought you were all sweaty?” His hair was wet. He looked sheepish all of a sudden.

“I took a shower,” he said, “didn’t want to ruin your nice things.” His eyes lingered on her body. “Come to my office.”

“Sure,” she said lightly. His expression was unreadable. He held onto her as they walked onto the elevator. When the doors opened and other people got on, he wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in Darcy’s ear.

“Honey, you look wonderful,” he said. She was sure it was audible in the metal box they were in. The few SHIELD employees working this late grinned at her and Darcy smiled back politely. 

“Thank you,” she whispered back. She was smiling so politely, she felt like she could win an Academy Award. Especially if they gave them out for not elbowing Brock Rumlow in his solidly muscular abs as he brushed his lips into her hair. Darcy felt like a Stepford Wife--until the doors opened and Miranda and Ellis stepped on. Darcy felt strangely stunned: seeing her up close was like spotting a celebrity in person. There she was, real as life, Darcy thought, borrowing a British idiom that Ian had used sometimes. Annoyingly, she was even more beautiful in movement than in photographs. She’d put blonde highlights in the ends of her messy shag, Darcy noticed. It was shorter and more unconventional-looking now. And she had a tan.

“Hello,” she said, smiling at them. Ellis echoed her greetings. 

“Hi,” Darcy said, at the same time Brock spoke. She hoped her Stepford Wife smile held.

“Hey,” Brock said. 

“Congratulations,” Miranda said, turning to face the elevator buttons. “On your engagement.” She pressed a button. Her ring sparkled. It was huge, Darcy realized, seeing she was wearing it with the point of the pear facing her knuckles.. No wonder Brock had thought Darcy’s taste was too small. 

“You, too,” Brock said smoothly. 

“Thank you,” Darcy said. Ellis said thanks at the same time. He and Darcy shared a moment of weird eye contact as Brock wrapped her more tightly in his arms. 

“How big a window are you giving yourself for wedding planning?” Miranda said suddenly. Darcy had no idea how to respond. She looked at Brock.

“Babe?” she said. “Wedding date?”

“We’re debating that,” Brock said. “You know my family, they want a big Italian wedding.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said, nodding. She hadn’t even known he was Italian.

“We’re probably going to elope,” Ellis said, chuckling. Darcy thought he looked more uncomfortable than Miranda. It was an awkward man chuckle, like someone whose joke had flopped.

“Keep it simple,” Miranda said. “No big fuss.”

“I could see that,” Darcy said, feeling weirdly emboldened. “But really, why not share your happiness with the people who really care about you?” she said.

“Mmm-hmm,” Brock said, kissing the side of her face. 

“That’s a good point,” Ellis said. He looked at Miranda. Darcy couldn’t figure out what her expression meant. The other woman reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I love your haircut, it’s so cool,” Darcy said. It was, technically, not a lie.

“You have beautiful hair,” Miranda said back, almost automatically.

“Lots of it,” Ellis said and then looked like he wanted to take the words back.

“Thanks,” Darcy said. 

“Plenty of good hair in this elevator,” Brock said casually. God, he was fucking with them, Darcy thought. Everyone got quiet. It was tense. She knew he understood what was up, even if she didn’t. The elevator dinged as it rose upwards. Ellis and Miranda got off a floor before them. As soon as the doors shut, Darcy exhaled. “You did great,” Brock said.

“Oh God,” she muttered. He laughed and squeezed her closer. There were a few agents working late on his floor, so they had to do the happy couple walk to Brock’s office. He slung his arm around her and talked loudly about places they could get married around DC. He kissed her again before they got inside the room and Darcy hated how much she enjoyed it. As soon as the door shut behind them, he moved away to shut the blinds. Darcy sat down silently. A moment later, Brock moved in front of her, sitting on the edge of his desk. He sat down slowly. Their knees almost touched. She didn’t want to be the first to speak, so she focused her attention on the curve of his scarred forearm. His muscles were rounded beneath the burn patterns. He was fit. She’d felt the planes of his abs beneath his shirt. “You’re a great actress,” he said in a low voice. 

“No, I’m not,” she said, reaching into her purse. “I said things--” Darcy began. She sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I’m sorry.” She leaned forward and plunked down the earrings box. “I can return the clothes to you later,” she said. “Somewhere less conspicuous.” She dared to look higher than his elbow for a fraction of a second. His expression was still and intimidating. “Do you want the ring back tonight?” she asked, then immediately began to slip it off.

“No,” he said, reaching out and stopping her. “I don’t.” He sighed and removed his hand. 

“You don’t?” Darcy said, confused. 

“No,” he said. “I can’t let you quit, Lewis.”

“What?” she said, actually meeting his eyes. He looked serious. 

“I can’t let you quit,” he repeated. “You’re too convincing. Everyone and their brother thinks I’m the luckiest fucker on the planet,” he said dryly.

“So, you’re not angry?” Darcy said. He shook his head.

“My mother wants to meet you, too. She’s very excited.”

“What?” Darcy said. 

“She comes to DC in December every year,” Brock said. “She’s coming at the end of the month, between Christmas and New Year’s.” That was several weeks away. He half-turned and leaned over his desk, retrieving something from one of the drawers. 

“You lie to your mother?” Darcy asked.

“Hmm?” he said, looking back. “Your mother knows?”

“Of course,” Darcy said. “She knows I wouldn’t get engaged suddenly, Ian and I dated for years and I didn’t--”

“He didn’t propose?” Brock asked, frowning, as he leaned against the desk again.

“I didn’t accept,” Darcy corrected. Ian had brought up marriage once or twice, but Darcy had always felt a strange resistance, like marriage wasn’t for her. Then he had run off with Arabella. 

“Don’t, uh, turn this down,” Brock said, holding out something. A wide box. 

“What is this?” she said.

“Apology gift,” he said. 

“Oh,” Darcy said, feeling wildly confused, as she opened the box. Inside was a station necklace dotted with gleaming dark pearls. “Oh,” she repeated. “They’re beautiful.” These looked like Tahitian baroque pearls. They were wildly expensive. She had been coveting a single pearl pendant, but even those were beyond her budget. Way, way beyond.

“They’re, uh, Tahitian,” Brock said quietly. “I saw how much you like the black ones.”

“I do,” Darcy admitted, wondering how he knew. She thought dark pearls looked better against her pale skin and she liked the irregular shapes. How had he known? She frowned. He shifted a little.

“What is it--do you not like it?”

“No, I love it,” she confessed. “It’s just--you really want me to lie to your mother?” Darcy said, tearing her eyes away from the necklace. He was smiling.

“I’ll tell her,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Eventually. You want to try them on?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, letting herself grin. She looked at him and then down at the necklace in amazement. He chuckled and came to stand behind her.

“I like this thing you did with your hair,” he said, as she moved it aside.

“Old-fashioned pin curls,” Darcy said, as his fingers touched her neck to fasten the clasp. 

“There,” Brock said.

“You’re making me all fancy,” Darcy said quietly. “Thank you.” She glanced tentatively over her shoulder. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said. 

“Yeah?” he said carefully.

“You wanna get dinner?” she offered. He burst out laughing.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.” Darcy insisted they go somewhere less fancy, even though he teased her about being overdressed. They were midway through their meal when his phone rang. “I’ve gotta get this,” Brock said. Darcy nodded. “Yeah,” he said into the phone. “Okay. Give me fifteen minutes. Sure. Fine.” He hung up with a sigh.

“What is it?” Darcy asked.

“I’ve gotta go, I’m on call,” he said. “There’s a scheduled mission. You stay--”

“No, no,” Darcy said. She flagged down a waiter. “I’ll ride back to SHIELD with you. It’s more in character and you can take your food on the plane.”

“Take my food on the plane?” he said, smirking so his scars twisted.

“Why’s that funny?” Darcy said, as the waiter came over.

“Technically, I wasn’t supposed to leave the building,” he said dryly.

“Oh, shit,” Darcy said.

“Yes?” the waiter said at her elbow.

“We need boxes,” Brock told him calmly. He grinned. “Don’t look so horrified,” he told Darcy. “I just snuck off with the girl I’m marrying.”

When they pulled up at SHIELD, there were actually agents waiting for him. Darcy waved at Natasha. “I’ve got you in trouble with Maria,” Darcy said, seeing Hill in the group. She leaned over and kissed him lightly, aware people were watching.

“Eh,” Brock said, shrugging. “It’ll be fine,” he said. He handed her his car keys. “I’ll call you.” He looked at her seriously and gave her a second kiss. It was more intense than the one she’d given him.

“Yeah,” she said, blinking a little when he pulled back.

“Because you’re gonna need to pick me up from work,” he said. His voice was dry. She couldn’t help it: she laughed. 

“Okay, shut up and take your steak,” she told him, “before Maria gives us the face.”

“She gives me the face all the time,” Brock said. He looked at her. 

“What?” Darcy said. She couldn’t read his expression.

“You look gorgeous,” he said. Then he got out of the car. Darcy was watching him go when the group shifted and she saw Miranda talking to a taller man she didn’t know. Miranda must be on the mission, Darcy realized. He hadn’t mentioned it. Had he known?

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory fashion notes:
> 
> I just love Tahitian baroque pearls, especially the drop shape. Here's Darcy's necklace in my head. https://www.americanpearl.com/bqbtdroptincup.html 
> 
> There are people on pearl forums with multiple strands of Tahitians and they're just swoon-worthy when layered. I was seriously tempted to give her a big ol' stack. Maybe sometime: https://www.pricescope.com/community/threads/a-neckful-of-pearls.130031/
> 
> A 1940s hair tutorial from one of my favorite Youtube channels: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbCMs0oZnHA&t=62s
> 
> The Roland Mouret Galaxy dress will make an appearance sometime in this story, I promise. It's _stunning._ https://www.popsugar.com/fashion/photo-gallery/38675459/image/38675470/Dita-Von-Teese


	5. A Girl Walks Into A Bookstore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“I really don’t know what’s going on,” Darcy confessed to Jane when they next talked. She had all her jewelry boxes lined up on her dresser and was sitting on the bed, trying to roll her hair into hot sticks with her laptop open to a video call with Jane. 

“Well, I mean, he _did_ buy you a pearl necklace?” Jane said laughingly. “It’s kinda subliminal.”

“Excuse me,” Darcy said. “Did you, the woman with a doctorate, just make a porn joke? You? Also, how did you know that?”

“I was there when Tony showed poor Steve Urban Dictionary,” Jane said.

“Ohhhhh,” Darcy said, re-rolling clumsily, as she half-glanced at her hair in the mirror across the room. “Shit. I really want a vanity one day.” 

“Ask your boyfriend for one,” Jane said. Behind her, Darcy could dimly see Drax and Thor having a pushup competition. 

“Jane,” Darcy scolded.

“Who’s her boyfriend?” a voice said, and Jane’s screen was turned so Rocket was abruptly visible. “You got a new man, Lewis?” he asked. 

“He’s not really my boyfriend,” Darcy said. 

“It’s a friends with benefits thing?" Rocket said. Suddenly, he turned the screen back towards Jane. “You don’t need to hear that,” he said. “Cover your ears and your bark.” Groot must be somewhere nearby.

“No! It is definitely not that,” Darcy said. She lowered her voice so Groot couldn’t hear. “There are no benefits, okay? We’re not”--she searched for a polite word-- “boinking each other. And he’s not even my friend--”

“Sure,” Jane said sarcastically. “Boinking!” She snickered. 

“He was my work nemesis!” Darcy insisted. Behind Jane, Peter Quill appeared, eating a sandwich. He leaned into frame. Darcy could see up his nose. He was chewing.

“Gamora and I have that,” he said, voice distorted by what looked like space tomatoes between bread, “the whole fighting to making out thing.” He gestured with the sandwich and a piece of onion fell onto Jane’s desk. She gave him a look, but Quill didn’t notice.

“No, we don’t,” a female voice said from somewhere out of frame. Peter turned towards it. “We absolutely don’t have that,” she said. This must be Gamora.

“Honey--” Quill said, disappearing. “We totally have that!”

“They do not have that,” Rocket said. Jane nodded at his eye roll. “But tell us about your man, Lewis. Foster says you’ve got a thing for him,” Rocket said.

“What?” Darcy said.

“I said a tiny thing,” Jane said, looking busted. “A little thing.”

“Traitor!” Darcy said.

“So, you’ve got a thing,” Rocket said. “You wouldn’t be upset if it wasn’t a thing. Nobody gets upset over a non-thing--”

“Look,” Darcy said, “this is all part of an operation. It’s fake. I’m pretending! I’m a good actress--”

“He bought her jewelry,” Jane said, sounding like a gleeful snitch.

“We’re pretending to be a couple,” Darcy said, glaring at Jane. “Of course he buys me gifts.”

“Gifts, huh?” Rocket said. “But you don’t gotta do nothing for ‘em?”

“She’s kissed him,” Jane said.

“He’s kissed me! And only in public,” Darcy said. “I wasn’t the--the lead person in most of that,” she lied.

“Show Rocket the jewelry,” Jane said. 

“Seriously?” Darcy said.

“Let’s see it,” Rocket said. “Is it real stuff?”

“Yes!” Darcy said, slightly offended. “This is my engage--fake engagement ring.” She lifted her elbow.

“Lemme zoom this thing in,” Rocket fiddled with the screen as Darcy held up her hand closer to the camera. He peered at her hand. “It’s got good clarity,” the racoon said. “The heart’s a little juvenile--”

“Hey!” Darcy said.

“It’s the most frequently traded in shape, Lewis. I picked up a good three carat in a pawn shop on Xandar once,” Rocket said. “Good for industrial repairs.”

“What kind of repairs?” Jane asked. While they engaged in a discussion of tool applications, Darcy got her earrings and necklace.

“--you can use it for a drill--” Rocket was saying, when Darcy opened the necklace box. The racoon looked up. “Put ‘em closer to the screen.” Darcy held them closer to the camera, swishing them so the chain glinted in the light. Rocket leaned forward.

“Pearls,” Darcy supplied. “From Tahiti.”

“That sounds very romantic,” a soft voice said. “Tahiti.” She’d trilled the last word out, emphasizing the last syllable. “What planet is Tahiti?”

“This is Mantis,” Jane said, as a dark eyed woman leaned into frame. 

“Hi,” Darcy said.

“Helloooo,” she said breathily. Her antennae trembled and she gave Darcy a smile, but her eyes went wide as she looked at the necklace. “Ohhhhhh,” Mantis said. 

“What do you feel?” Jane asked, looking canny.

“Very romantic,” she said. “Such yearning for affection--”

“Yearning, huh?” Rocket said. “What’ll you take for ‘em?” 

“Nooo,” Darcy said, reflexively holding them tighter.

“Did you just clutch your pearls?” Jane joked.

“Maybe,” Darcy said.

“They’re very pretty,” Mantis said.

“She don’t have to do nothing for ‘em, either,” Rocket said to Mantis. He looked back at the screen. “I think you should keep him, toots. Most people gotta at least wash somebody’s underwear for presents.”

“Bleep bleep,” a voice said and part of a tree leaned into frame.

“Hi, Groot,” Darcy said, waving. The branch hurriedly retreated and Rocket started to laugh. “What I’d do?” Darcy asked, perplexed.

“He thinks you’re cute--” Rocket began. “Hey!” A tree branch appeared to be smacking him. “She’s got a boyfriend, Groot.”

“Yes, she does,” Jane said, waggling her eyebrows.

“His gift seems very kind,” Mantis said. 

“Really?” Darcy said. “Do you get vibes from earrings, too?”

“Get the earrings,” Jane said.

“I’m getting them!” Darcy said. She was already getting the box off the dresser. She held it up for Mantis, then turned the box side-to-side, so they’d move. “See?”

“Ohhhh,” Mantis said.

“Real swingy,” Rocket said. “Nice.”

  
  


* * *

“Genuine alien pigment in the paints, huh?” Brock said. He looked down at the framed painting in the crate. The man he was meeting smiled. 

“Yes,” he said. The smile was a fraction too wide and his eyes were glassy. Brock had begun to suspect that the art did things to its’ owners. 

“Let’s just let my art expert have a look at it,” Brock said. He turned to Jack. The Australian was one of several agents pretending to be Rumlow’s bodyguards. Rumlow was pretending to be a silent shareholder in the gaming industry with a large collection of illegal art.

“You have an art expert?” the man said. He giggled. It was a creepy giggle. Brock made his answering smile smooth.

“What, you think that just because my ancestors came from Sicily, I can’t be refined?” he said. Just then, Miranda came into the room, carrying a glass of wine. “Come look at these,” he said, waving her over. “Whaddya think?” Miranda moved over and leaned closer to the top painting. It was a seascape. When she sat her glass down, the man winced.

“Be careful,” he said.

“I’m not a clumsy person,” Miranda said dryly. She looked at Brock. “Is there a particular reason you have an interest in terrible hotel art?” she said.

“Special pigments in the paint,” Brock said. “Ground up Chitauri.”

“Lovely,” she said. 

“I thought it was poetic,” Brock said. “These fuckers attack my city, I hang up art with their ground up fucking husks. Poetry.” He raised a canvas in the air. His seller was visibly twitching, like a startled rabbit. 

“Aside from the banality of these compositions, I can imagine the appeal,” Miranda said. “I’ll need to run tests--”

“No, no! No tests,” the seller said, suddenly more agitated.

“It’ll be fine,” Brock said. He’d lowered the painting at the sound of the other man’s voice. His hands tightened slightly around the canvas. The seller was sweating. Brock didn’t like the feeling in the air, but he didn’t want to look away from the man in front of him.

“I may be able to just take a paint sample from the back--” Miranda began, when the man drew a weapon. A split-second later, Brock had tossed the painting at him, pushing Miranda out of the way. The boom in his ears was loud. He’d never quite got used to the sound of gunfire at close range, he thought, as he and Miranda landed on the floor. The two shots were followed by a volley of gunfire from the surrounding agents. It took a moment for the echoing to subside. He realized Miranda’s lips were moving. “Brock?” Miranda said, half-wedged underneath him. Her voice was panicky. He looked at the space between them and the liquid pooling on her blouse.

“Shit,” he said. “I got blood on you.”

  
  


* * *

While Brock was away, Darcy decided to shop for books. Natasha had suggested she buy a new book on the Cartier family--apparently reading her gushing Instagram posts about her necklace from Brock--and Darcy had also picked up Aja Raden’s _Stoned,_ a book on Tiffany’s, Elizabeth Taylor’s jewelry memoir, and Tilar Mazzeo’s _The Secret of Chanel no. 5,_ just for fun. She was juggling books and her reusable shopping bag on her way out of the store when her phone rang. She thought it was probably Jane. “What’s shakin, bacon?” she said cheerfully. 

“Darcy? Darcy Lewis?” an unfamiliar female voice said. She sounded weird.

“Yes?” Darcy said, more calmly.

“This is Miranda--from SHIELD,” she said, stammering.

“Oh, hi,” Darcy cut in.

“Brock wanted me to call you,” she said, sounding actually weepy now. “He’s been shot.”

“W-what?” Darcy said, feeling a ringing in her ears. One of her heavy books slid out of her arms and landed with a thud on the bookstore’s floor. People turned to look, but all Darcy could concentrate on was her phone. “Oh my God,” she said, feeling herself sway on her feet. 

“He’s okay---he’s okay,” Miranda said. “We’re back at SHIELD, he just wanted you to know before someone else told you.”

“Can I talk to him? Can he talk?” Darcy asked, trying to hold it together even if she was freaking out internally. 

“Yeah--yeah,” she replied, audibly sniffling. “We’re in the med bay.” There was noise on her end of the conversation. Darcy heard her speaking, then the phone being passed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Brock said. Darcy felt flooded with relief.

“Are you okay?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Nothing I haven’t been through before.” He sounded a little scratchy voiced, but calm.

“I’ll be right there,” Darcy said anxiously.

“Don’t rush, baby,” he said. “You shouldn’t drive upset.” When she said she loved him as normal, he said it back. “Be careful,” he added.

Only en route to SHIELD, did it dawn on Darcy that maybe she should’ve left him with Miranda. Did he want to be alone with Miranda? She fretted about it the entire trip to the agency’s headquarters. A guard tried to stop her at the entrance to the medical section of the building. “Ma’am,” he said, as Darcy sailed past him. “This area is--”

“I’m Commander Rumlow’s fiancée,” Darcy said, giving him the murder stare she’d learned from Jane. “What room is he in?” She’d forgotten to ask Brock on the phone.

“Thirty-two,” the guard said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said crisply, going through the automatic doors. She hurried down a corridor, scanning the signs by each door for room numbers. Her boots squeaked on the linoleum. On her second hallway, she found room thirty-two and then froze in the doorway. She’d heard the person talking.

“--saved my life,” a voice said. Miranda was leaning over Brock as he lay in the hospital bed, IV snaking up from his arm. They were holding hands. Was she actually crying? Darcy thought so; Miranda’s eyes were red. 

“Brock?” Darcy said, hoping she sounded upset.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Brock said, seeing Darcy for the first time. He smiled weakly. When Miranda realized it was Darcy, she sprung up, wiping her eyes, and looked nervous.

“Hello--I was just--I’ll give you two time alone,” she said, grabbing her purse and rushing out so fast that she almost bumped into Darcy. Darcy stared at Miranda. The other woman’s fleeting glance was almost...guilty? 

“See? Look, I’m fine, honey,” Brock said. Darcy watched Miranda go, then shut the door so they wouldn’t be overheard. 

“Fuck,” she whispered, “I’m sorry,” she added, as she dropped a kiss on his forehead and sat down next to Brock.

“Huh?” he said.

“I busted into your reconciliation and fucked it up,” Darcy whispered, rearranging his blankets. People could see them through the windows. She was pretending to fuss over him.

“Nah,” he said, shifting a little. “We weren’t there yet.”

“No?” Darcy said, frowning. “Seriously? Because she looked really guilty?” He shook his head, grinning.

“Guilty, huh?”

“Super guilty,” Darcy said, smiling at him. She was so relieved he seemed fine that she couldn’t stop smiling.

“We gotta let it percolate,” Brock told her. “I move too fast, she gets spooked and runs back to Ellis.” Darcy nodded. They talked about his injuries. “They want me to stay here for a few days,” Brock said. “But they were relatively minor.”

“Minor gunshot wounds?” Darcy said skeptically.

“Minor relative to my life experiences,” he said wryly.

“Okay,” she said slowly. SHIELD-adjacent life, Darcy thought. “You didn’t get shot on purpose, did you?” she asked.

“Of course not,” Brock said, looking surprised by the question.

“Good,” Darcy said. “That would be stupid.”

“Also, I’m not a psychopath,” he said, scrunching his nose. “I mean--I’ll use an opportunity, if it just lands in my lap--”

“Or your shoulder,” Darcy said, grinning. That was where he’d been shot. He grinned back at her.

“You feel like hanging around, being the sad girlfriend?” he said.

“Sure,” Darcy said.

It was surprisingly easy to extend their act to SHIELD’s medical bay. Darcy brought her books and snacks and camped out in his room. She read her book, redid her nails--she’d bought a violet, blue, and peachy glitter called Off to Collage! before her bookstore trip-- and pretended to be a hovering, overly dramatic girlfriend. “Here, take this blanket,” she said, draping one from her car over Brock.

“I’m not sick,” Brock insisted. “I’m not even cold!” They were bickering when a tall, intimidating-looking man walked into the room.

“Uhhh, hey, mate. Am I interrupting?” he asked. He had an Australian accent and was wearing a Billy Ray Cyrus t-shirt.

“Hey, Jack,” Brock said.

“He’s being non-compliant,” Darcy said, tucking the blanket around Brock’s feet. He rolled his eyes at her and then spoke to Jack. 

“This is Darcy,” Brock said. 

“Hello,” Darcy said, shaking Jack’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Brock talks about you all the time. I like your shirt,” she added, deciding not to be unnerved by his height and general vibe. His feral expression turned into a grin as he surveyed the scene.

“Word ‘round the office is you’re a real glamorous sheila,” Jack said wryly. Darcy looked down at her outfit: she was wearing yoga pants, her favorite scuffed boots, and a brightly colored Fair Isle cardigan over a t-shirt. 

“He knows about how Romanoff set us up,” Brock said, sounding more strained.

“And I remember London,” Jack said.

“Ohhhhh,” Darcy said, laughing. “You’re the one who kept him from being tased.” She leaned in and whispered. “He _loves_ my cardigan,” she joked. It was hip-length and practically swallowed her, but she had rushed over in her normal, Old Navy type clothes.

“It’s fucking awful,” Brock muttered.

“Isn’t he sweet?” Darcy said cheerfully. “You know, I saw Billy Ray Cyrus once in concert? I was a kid--”

“Oh God,” Brock said.

“Yeah?” Jack said at the same time, looking curious.

“My mom and her friend got tickets just for fun,” Darcy said.

“He do Achy Breaky?” Jack asked.

“Yup,” Darcy said, “He had the hair, too. All these really dressed-up women kept coming up to the stage, it was wild. I totally didn’t get that they were probably trying to get his attention. I was eight,” Darcy said. “Come help me make Brock eat some of my homemade trail mix--”

“It’s stuff she got from the vending machine down the hall,” Brock grumbled.

“It’s pretzels, cheddar popcorn, and M&Ms, I mixed ‘em all up,” Darcy said.

“Sounds good to me,” Jack said. He and Darcy snacked and eventually got Brock to have some, too.

“You’ve got cheese powder on your face,” Brock told Darcy. Darcy stuck her tongue out at him.

“As you can see, I’m already very fancy,” she told Jack. “But he keeps trying to class me up.”

“I know that one,” Jack said, sighing. “My old man’s an art dealer. He’s bloody fancy.” His voice mixed fondness and befuddlement.

“Really?” Darcy said.

“Rog has everyday cufflinks and special event cufflinks, darl,” Jack said. He looked down at his shirt. “I hide me tees in the back of the closet.” She nodded sympathetically. In her peripheral vision, Brock was watching them, she realized.

“What’s an everyday cufflink?” Darcy wondered. 

“Montblanc and Tiffany, mostly,” Jack said.

“Ahh,” Darcy replied. She gestured to her stack of books. “Nat has me doing research to keep up with him.” Jack nodded. “Roger must love you,” Darcy told Brock. Brock pulled a face.

“He thinks I’m too flashy,” Brock said.

“No, he don’t--” Jack began.

“Yes, he does,” Brock said. He grinned. “It’s ‘cause I fucking hate ties.” Darcy laughed at Brock’s expression. 

“And you made fun of his favorite sculpture,” Jack said, more pointedly.

“It was a metal horse’s head, what do you expect me to do? Not make a _Godfather_ joke?” Brock said.

“Whoops,” Darcy said.

“Roger doesn’t hold a grudge,” Jack said.

“He’s gonna be all over your outfit, though,” Brock said to Darcy. 

“Yeah, but it’ll be your fault, not mine,” Darcy said gleefully. He snorted. She looked at Jack. “You want to have this dinner as soon as he’s discharged?” she asked the Australian.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jack said. 

  
  


After Jack left, Darcy started thumbing through her books as Brock watched television. He’d turned on a football game. “What is a Knick, anyway?” Darcy asked.

“This is football. The Steelers,” he said, looking at her like she was insane. “The Knicks are basketball.”

“I know that. It was a general question. Pittsburgh makes steel, hence Steelers. But what’s a Knick?” she said. “And why is the k silent? Shouldn’t be pronounced like Kenickie in _Grease?_ I’m still sad about that, by the way. When I was little I thought he was cuter than Danny.”

“You thought the hickey guy was cuter than Travolta?” Brock said, staring at her now.

“I identified with Rizzo, she had curly hair and integrity,” Darcy said. 

“She--nevermind,” Brock said. “I want to watch this.” He turned up the game. A moment later, she realized he was still staring in her direction. “Integrity?” he said.

“She didn’t take crap from people and she wasn’t ashamed of her sexuality,” Darcy said, flipping a page in her book about Tiffany. “That’s goals.” She looked up. “I mean who wants to be Sandy? She’s so boring.” She tilted her head at an image in the book. One of those floating heart necklaces, only this one had pavé diamonds. It reminded her of her ring. It was tiny and delicate.

“You find something you want?” he said. Darcy looked up at him in surprise--then thought of a joke.

“No, I’m making my Christmas wishlist when I look at the Liz Taylor book,” she deadpanned. He laughed.

* * *

“I can’t stay in this damn bed anymore,” Brock grumbled the next morning. Darcy had run home for a shower and a change of clothes while he slept and then returned to find him awake, cranky, and complaining

“You messed up your dissolving stitches,” she reminded him. He had injured himself yelling at the football game last night. They were making him stay another day.

“This is some bullshit,” Brock muttered. “I heal fine.” He made a face and stared into middle distance. 

“I can get you coffee?” Darcy bargained, refilling the water glass next to his bed.

“You look nice,” he said suddenly. She glanced down at her outfit. She was wearing a pair of dark pants and a teal scoop neck shirt. They were Natasha clothes, but extremely comfy. Darcy had worn her swinging earrings from Brock, too.

“You think so?” Darcy said, smiling. She had a blue watercolor scarf around her neck. “This is Jane’s scarf,” she added. “She left it with me. Did I tell you that she’s looking into space meds for me?”

“Space meds?” Brock said.

“Something I can take so I can go into space, too,” she said.

“You miss her and the big blonde?” he asked, frowning. Darcy nodded.

“Yup. What kind of coffee do you want?” she said.

“Black,” he said, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m fucking stuck here another day.”

“Okay, black coffee,” she told him. She reached over and pushed the hair off his forehead. “It’ll be fine,” she told him. “I’ll stay here all day and annoy you, the day will fly by,” she joked in a low voice. He looked at her ambiguously.

“People watching,” he said, leaning over and kissing her. Darcy had to resist the urge to sink down onto the side of the bed and really make out with him. It was really unfortunate that he was such a good kisser. She sighed a little when he pulled away. “They’re gone now,” he said. 

“I’ll get you that coffee,” she said. He looked a little pouty. “You sure you don’t want more trail mix?” she offered. 

“No,” he said, curling his lips more. She laughed.

“Don’t think I don’t notice that you only kiss me when I’m all dressed up,” Darcy whispered. 

“I don’t--” he said, then paused.

“Uh-huh, sure,” she said, getting her purse. “I’ll leave you to think about that.”

  
  


Darcy had gone downstairs to SHIELD’s coffeeshop and was standing in line when she saw Miranda heading upstairs. She waved, but the agent didn’t seem to register her gesture. “Huh,” Darcy said, fiddling with her earbuds. _That was weird,_ she thought. Was Miranda snubbing her?

“What’ll you have?” the barista asked, when the line moved forward.

“One black coffee, one peppermint mocha with skim milk, please,” Darcy said. The sound of the steamers was one of her favorite sounds. “And oh, two biscotti?”

“Sure,” the barista said. Darcy was carrying their coffees towards Brock’s room when she heard two voices. 

“Are you sure about this?” a woman said. Miranda, Darcy realized. She had seen Darcy and come up here. Darcy slowed her steps to listen, just to see if they were arguing.

“Where’s this coming from?” Brock was saying.

“People are talking about you getting engaged so quickly,” Miranda said.

“This is a serious relationship,” he replied in a stiff, clipped voice. Darcy realized they were arguing about her. She stopped and leaned against the wall to eavesdrop more intently.

“I just think she’s--well, she seems a little young and vain for you,” Miranda said. “I mean, look at these books. Chanel and Tiffany?” _You hypocritical bitch,_ Darcy thought, inwardly fuming. _You just want him back now that he has someone!_

“You think she’s vain?” Brock said, sounding incredulous. “She’s the least vain woman I’ve ever met,” he said. Darcy was startled by how offended he sounded. 

“I know you had Natasha take her shopping. She’s posting all these photos of clothes and jewelry, waving your credit card around in the coffee shop,” Miranda said.

“She did that because I asked her to,” Brock said stubbornly. “I wanted to do those things for her. She doesn’t care about all that, all right?” 

“I just don’t want to see someone take advantage of you,” Miranda said softly. It sounded like she’d moved closer to him. “You’re doing so much better,” she said. “I hear you’re not drinking so much, you’ve really turned a corner. I’m proud of you. Really proud.” Her voice had gone tender. Darcy inhaled, preparing to walk away. She could give them time, she thought. This was the moment they got together--

“I’m doing better because of her,” he said sharply. “And you lost the fucking right to be proud of me when you walked out.”

“That’s how you really feel?” Miranda said.

“You left me, remember? My fucking problems were too much for you,” he said, voice lethally quiet. “It’s a little goddamn late to pretend to care now.”

“You think I’m pretending?” Miranda said, voice sharpening.

“No, I think you’re getting involved in something that’s not your damn business,” he said. “And you’re jealous of her.” His voice had gone coldly angry.

“Excuse me?” Miranda said.

“You heard me,” Brock said. “You’re jealous because I’ve finally moved on.”

“You’re an asshole,” Miranda said. Darcy flattened herself against the wall as the other woman stomped out, almost running into her. When she walked into the room, Brock was staring at his hands.

“What the hell was that?” Darcy said quietly, setting down his coffee. She was lucky it wasn’t all over her shirt, the way Miranda had stormed out.

“Huh?” he said.

“I heard her,” Darcy said slowly. He frowned.

“Fuck,” Brock said. “She insulted you--”

“Nevermind that, she wanted to get back together with you!” Darcy whispered urgently, sitting down. “You were so close!”

“No, I wasn’t,” Brock said. “She doesn’t want to get back together with me, she just wants to be fucking condescending and superior.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, disbelieving him. She sipped her coffee. He had been so close! Why hadn't he responded to her the right way, Darcy wondered. “You wanna talk about it?” she asked finally.

“Nope,” he said. They sat in silence for awhile. “You see anything you like in that book?” He gestured and she followed his gaze to her stack of books. The Tiffany one was on top.

“No,” she said, deciding to be equally stubborn.

“Yes, you did, I saw you do the face,” Brock said. “What was it?” They had a stare off. He raised his eyebrows. Darcy sighed.

“The Open Heart necklace, the mini one,” Darcy said. “With all the pavé diamonds.”

“Buy it,” he said, sounding like he was giving an order. Darcy googled--and laughed. “What?” Brock said.

“They don’t make it anymore,” she said. “The book is a few years old. That one isn’t available.”

“Shit,” he muttered grimly. It dawned on Darcy what he was doing.

“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re buying me things because it pisses her off!”

“No,” he said. “Okay, maybe I’m am.” 

“I’m not going to argue,” Darcy said. “She called me vain.”

“You heard that?” he asked.

“Yup.” Darcy drank a little of her latte. She was trying to enjoy her peppermint mocha when a thought bubbled up. “And her ring is way bigger than mine!” she said out loud, feeling defensive. Brock looked at her. “But I’m the vain one?” she muttered.

“You’re not vain, that’s bullshit,” he said.

“You don’t think so?” she asked.

“I’ve seen your terrible sweater,” Brock said. 

“Bite me,” Darcy said.

“Are we sure you’re not colorblind?” Brock said wryly.

“Pffhhhht,” she said, sticking her tongue out. “Just for that, I’m spending lots of your money on something.” 

"Fine," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory fashion notes:
> 
> I saw this sweater at Old Navy and thought it was the Darciest of all sweaters: https://oldnavy.gap.com/browse/product.do?pid=646546#pdp-page-content
> 
> The mini Open Heart is very tiny, but I thought it went with Darcy's delicate heart jewelry vibe in this story:  
> 


	6. Making Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Will you stop being so bitchy?” Darcy said in a hiss. She sat down the Elizabeth Taylor book with a _thunk._

“Excuse me?” Brock said, staring at her incredulously.

“You’re in an awful mood,” she whispered urgently. It had been a miserable day. Brock had complained all afternoon. Darcy knew it was because he was upset about Miranda, but he refused to talk about it. 

Instead, he talked back to CNN—“What the fuck does Wolf Blitzer know?”—fidgeted in the hospital bed, and went on tedious lectures about SHIELD rules and protocols. “So?” Brock said.

“Either talk about her or shut up,” she said. “You know that’s what’s bugging you.”

“Thanks, Miss Psych 101,” he said sarcastically.

“Look,” Darcy hissed, “you had a major opportunity to make a move today and you sabotaged yourself.”

“A move?” Brock’s tone was bitter.

“Yes. You could have kissed her!” Darcy said. He scoffed. She ignored it. “You could have said you loved her! Hell, why didn’t you say you’d think about breaking up with me? Pretended to consider her theories? Why are we doing this if you’re not really trying?” Darcy said in a hot whisper.

“What does it matter to you? You’re getting out of debt, I’m taking you good places,” he said aggressively. “You’d rather sit home and be broke?” Darcy glared at him. 

“I go places! I date,” she said, offended. 

“You jumped at this,” he said. “So, clearly, you ain’t _that_ busy.” 

“You—you,” Darcy sputtered. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, “except when you’re sticking your tongue down my throat and making sure I know exactly how fantastic your body is.”

“Ugh!” Darcy said. “I don’t do that. You suck! Totally suck!” She realized that she had raised her voice and stopped. “You know what? I’m going,” she said, quietly seething. She grabbed her purse and turned on her heel. 

“Darcy,” he said, but she ignored him.

* * *

“I left my books there,” Darcy told Jane mournfully on the phone. She was on her couch in her pajamas and had blemish patches dotted on her face. When she was stressed, she tended to squeeze and mess with her skin. The patches helped her not obsess.

“Tell him you want them back,” Jane said, looking at the screen and then turning back to her screwdriver. She was wearing an odd pair of goggles and working on some kind of equipment. To Darcy, she looked like Edna Mode. It would have been amusing if Darcy wasn’t so glum.

“No, they were all jewelry and perfume books, that’s just torturing myself if this arrangement is over,” she said. Darcy sighed. 

“What?” Jane said.

“I wanted to finish the Elizabeth Taylor book. I was reading about her tiara from Mike Todd. He got it for her because she was his queen, supposedly,” Darcy said wistfully. “Before he died in the plane crash.”

“That’s nice,” Jane said, clearly less impressed.

“You have a tiara from Thor!” Darcy said enviously.

“It’s heavy and it gives me headaches,” Jane said. “You can borrow it whenever.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said, hearing the glum note in her own voice. “But I doubt I’ll be going anywhere fancy.”

“You never know,” Jane said.

“Hmmpf,” Darcy said. “Hold on, I’m getting wine.” 

“Why are you so upset?” Jane called after her. “Use your words, not your corkscrew!” Darcy laughed, poured herself a glass, and sat down with a grin.

“I think I’m upset because he shut down on me,” she admitted. “He won’t tell me his feelings, but he doesn’t mind me listening to him gripe and staying with him. So,” Darcy said, “I’m doing all this emotional labor for him, but he doesn’t even treat me like a friend. Also, he said something about me”—she did air quotes—“putting my tongue in his mouth and making sure he knows how good my body is.”

“What?” Jane said. “Ewww, asshole!”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “Where is everyone?” She peered at the screen.

“Asleep. It’s the middle of the night here, sorta. They’re all in bed,” Jane said.

“Speak for yourself,” Rocket said, appearing suddenly behind Jane. “How’s it going?”

“Great, I’ve got the clamps working,” Jane said.

“Not that, Lewis’s love life,” Rocket cracked.

“Lousy,” Darcy admitted.

“Maybe he don’t want the other chick back,” Rocket said. He had been listening, she realized.

“Maybe,” Darcy agreed. Jane clanked her wrench. “He blew it today and then he was all grumpy--” Darcy said.

“Hey!” Rocket said. He rapped on the screen. _Clunk—clunk—clunk._ “Pay attention. I know you been spending all your time with Tiny Science here, but if he don’t want the ex back, you’ve got an opportunity, toots. Snatch him up for yourself!”

“What?” Jane said.

“Yeah, right,” Darcy said. “He doesn’t want me, okay?”

“Oh, yeah? So you have a fight and he brings up your tongue and your boobs for no reason?” Rocket said.

“Oooh,” Jane said. “He did!”

“But he was insulting me,” Darcy began.

“But nothing. That was no insult. Make a move!” Rocket said sternly. “At least flirt a little. You want what she’s got”—he gestured to Jane—“your prince ain’t gonna fall from the sky.” He crossed his arms and looked triumphant.

“Well, actually,” Jane said.

* * *

Darcy had fallen asleep when someone knocked on her door. She opened her eyes and looked around, confused. It was after two in the morning. The person banged on the door again. “Darcy!” a voice yelled. She knew that voice.

“Brock, Jesus,” Darcy said out loud, getting up. She peered through the security peephole. He was close to the glass circle, face distorted.

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was an asshole--” She opened the door.

“Shhhh, don’t wake my neighbors,” Darcy scolded. Brock leaned against the door for a moment, unsteady. He was holding her books under one arm.

“Sorry, sorry.” He stumbled over the door frame. She realized he was wasted.

“What are you doing here?” Darcy said.

“I’m here to see you,” he said, looking affronted. “Gotta talk. You wanted to talk.” His voice was slurred. He set the books on the floor with a _thud._ She winced at the loud noise.

“Why aren’t you in the med unit?” she asked.

“Checked out. AMA. Couldn’t take it anymore,” he rambled. “I was fucking lonely.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. He looked at her. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--have yelled at you. I’m an asshole.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, sighing. She didn’t know what to say. Brock was clearly smashed. He smiled at her, eyes glassy. His gaze was intense. Then he reached out and touched her face gently. Darcy thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her. Instead, he frowned.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked, poking her cheek.

“That,” Darcy said, sighing, “is a blemish patch.” He started to laugh hysterically and sank down onto her couch, shaking. “Hey!” she said, feeling like he was making fun of her. Abruptly, she realized he’d covered his face with his hands and his laughter turned to sobs. He was actually weeping. “Brock,” she said gently. She reached over and touched his shoulder. He looked up.

“Like you have a damn flaw,” he said, wiping at his eyes. She stared at him. “You’re perfect,” he said. “You don’t even like spending my money.”

“Yes, I do,” Darcy said, torn between sympathy and frustration with his erratic behavior. “I’ve spent tons of your money!” she insisted. He chuckled wryly.

“We all know that was Romanoff,” he said, inhaling.

“I bought perfume,” she said, feeling oddly stubborn. He chuckled. “Miranda thinks I want your money,” she added. Darcy sat down next to him on the couch.

“She probably doesn’t really think that,” he muttered. “I dunno. I gave her trouble. I was a fuck up.” Darcy listened quietly as he talked. “I drank too much, pushed her away,” he said. “That’s what happened.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. He’d decided to talk about it. She reached for his hand. He squeezed her back for a second before he let go.

“I missed my face,” he said, after a pause. “I kept wondering if people just felt fucking sorry for me. Or if they wanted something.”

“That’s not true,” Darcy said, rubbing his shoulders. He looked at her. “People care about you—Jack, Natasha, even Miranda _cares,”_ she told him. “I care, even if I want to smack you sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Brock asked. For a second, he looked strange again. Like he wanted to lean in. Darcy caught herself shifting forward. He licked his lips, but turned his head abruptly, looking grim. The moment passed. She cleared her throat and looked at the coffee table. He sighed. “Did I wake you up?” he asked, eyes trailing around the room before he came back to her.

“Yep,” Darcy said.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said. 

“S’okay.” She yawned. When she opened her eyes again, he was smiling. “You want to sleep here?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m pretty sure the Uber guy left.”

“I’m glad you didn’t drive,” Darcy told him, still rubbing his bicep. “I’ll get you a blanket.” He was looking at her legs, she realized.

“I like your socks,” he said. She was wearing blue and orange mac and cheese socks. Her favorites. “Thank you,” she said, resisting the urge to laugh.

* * *

Darcy woke up to the smell of coffee and food. “Brock?” she said, padding out into the kitchen. She’d heard someone moving around, too. He had his back to her.

“Hey,” he said, turning around. He was getting something out of the fridge.

“Are you baking?” Darcy said, stunned. She could smell something yummy.

“Waffles,” he said. He was using her waffle mix and mini iron, she realized, when moved and she saw the tiny iron on the counter.

“Wow,” Darcy said, without thinking. He grinned.

“Go sit, I got this,” he told her. “You want coffee? Where are your pods?” Darcy had a single cup coffee machine.

“I use refillable ones, they’re in the drawer by the pot. It’s the purple one. Next to the spoons,” she said, sitting down on the couch. He had the news on. She sat down, utterly surprised by his change in mood.

“That’s good for the environment,” he said.

“It’s cheaper--Jane and I were broke,” Darcy said, laughing. “And you have way more choices in bagged coffee.”

“Still,” Brock said, “how many sugars?”

“Two pumps of the sugar free vanilla,” Darcy said. She kept a syrup bottle on the counter. “And half and half.”

“Oh God, this is really bad for you,” he said, clucking his tongue.

“Pffhhht,” Darcy said. “Are you watching this?” She meant the news.

“Nah,” he said, bringing her the coffee. She turned on the fireplace streaming video she liked. It had a crackling birchwood fire.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. He looked really well for someone who’d been so wasted last night.

“What is it?” he asked, catching her glance.

“You don’t even seem a little hungover,” Darcy said. “You smelled like a José Cuervo factory a few hours ago!” He laughed.

“HYDRA serums, sweetheart,” Brock said. “I process faster. Not as fast as Cap, but faster than I did before.”

“Ohhhh,” she said. She sipped her coffee.

“Gave me a lot of bad habits,” he said, frowning. “I’m sorry I woke you.” She shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it. This is good, what’d you do different?” Darcy said, trying to distract him.

“I touched the mug,” he joked. He looked at her television. The logs were shifting and crackling onscreen. “That’s nice. No clean up.”

“Yup,” she said. “My favorite kind.” He moved back towards the kitchen. “I like fake fires and twinkle lights.” She’d strung some around the kitchen.

“Do you just like cashmere, too?” he asked, half turning back.

“Huh?” Darcy said.

“The candle and your perfume,” he said. “I saw the name on the bill.”

“Ohhhh,” Darcy said. She had a generic cashmere-scented candle on the coffee table, next to his popcorn tin and a Trader Joe’s Fearless Flyer she’d dogeared for snacks and wine. “Yeah, I kinda do?” she admitted. He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. She wondered what he thought of her cookie-cutter apartment and thrift store furniture. She and Jane had worked out ways to make things feel less depressing--hanging posters from Culver art exhibits in plastic frames, painting their curb-finds, putting up lights--but everything she owned was a little worn. They even used a Craigslist-found daybed as a couch to have an extra place for stray Asgardians or Erik to crash. Twin sheets and mattress protectors were cheaper---and washable. It was nothing like his fancy hotel suite. 

“Come get your waffles,” he said, breaking her train of thought.

“Okay,” she said. They were eating breakfast when he looked at her. 

“What are you thinking?” he said.

“You’re in a really good mood,” Darcy said, grinning. “I just want to know how to predict them, so I can snag more waffles.” He laughed. 

“I, uh,” he paused, “I’m bad about being moody.”

“Well, I understand being upset about the situation with Miranda,” she said, stopping to think of the right words. “But I don’t--do you want to get back together with her?” Darcy asked. She’d been thinking about it. She didn’t know how he felt about Miranda. She also didn’t know how _she_ felt about him. Darcy looked at him now, thinking about how much she’d actually wanted to kiss him last night. Why couldn’t he be a terrible kisser? Her life would be so much less complicated if he kissed badly.

“I, uh,” Brock said. “I’m not sure.” He frowned. “We break up, we get back together, every time there’s more stuff between us.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, trying to squelch her disappointment. She swirled her fork a little and tried to give him objective advice. “I’m sure it’s harder once you’ve argued and said things you can’t take back.”

“Exactly,” he said. He ate part of a mini waffle. “It’s all out there,” he repeated.

“Maybe we should stop doing this,” Darcy said slowly. “Don’t try to make her jealous, just talk to her.” He was already shaking his head.

“Lewis, I’m not gonna jilt you,” he said. “I like having you around.”

“Seriously?” Darcy said, raising both eyebrows.

“I do,” he insisted.

“You’ve got a fucked up way of showing it,” she muttered, stabbing a bit of waffle with her fork.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve got a shitty Italian temper sometimes.”

“Are you stereotyping your own ethnicity?” she said, astonished.

“Is it working?” Brock asked, grinning. “What if I buy you a present?” Darcy huffed with pretend drama.

“No more presents, you’re going to give me the gift of being nice,” she sassed. “Nice and calm. Allllll the time.”

“No,” he said, smirking so his scars twisted. “Don’t do that to me, don’t ask me to be calm. Not that!” His gestures were animated.

“You’re going to be Matisse,” she said, pointing to the poster behind them. She and Jane had gone to a Matisse exhibit at a state museum once. She always bought a poster or postcards.

“What?” he said.

“He did a painting called _Luxe, Calme, et Volupté--_ luxury, calmness, and voluptuousness, I think? Why don’t you learn more about art, so you can talk to Miranda?” she asked.

“I hate museums,” he said glumly. 

“You hate art?” Darcy said.

“No,” he said, sighing. “It’s going to these events. All these pretentious assholes and cheap wine. They all love her and look at me like I’m the waiter.”

“Ohhhh,” Darcy said. “But you could try to find a neutral topic of conversation?”

“What if _we_ find a neutral topic of conversation?” he said back easily.

“Less Miranda?” she said. 

“Less museum,” he muttered.

“How’s your shoulder?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said. 

“Great,” Darcy said. His eyes wandered around the room as she ate. 

“Let’s look at your jewelry books together,” he said suddenly.

“What?” Darcy said.

“You want some emeralds? I looked at that Liz Taylor book. What? You left and I was bored,” Brock said.

“No, no,” Darcy said. “I’m not an emerald person.”

“What do you like?” Brock asked.

“Let’s go somewhere really fun,” Darcy said. “Your apology can be doing a day of things I like.” She beamed at him gleefully. He looked trapped.

  
  


“A pet adoption thing?” Brock said, when they pulled up at the pet store. There were crates and tables on the sidewalk outside the store.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said.

“Are you getting a dog?” he asked.

“One day,” Darcy said, “but until then, I want to pet dogs and meet rescues. It’s like networking, only sometimes, there are tiny kittens and puppies.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. 

“Also,” Darcy said, “if we run into your coworkers, we look like a very serious couple. In a normal, non-SHIELD way. Couples get dogs.” She made her voice wicked. She knew, deep down, that he loved this spycraft stuff.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice brightened. “Yeah.” They were walking up to the first crate--a lab mix was thumping his tail enthusiastically at Darcy---when Brock spoke. “What else do serious couples do?” he whispered. “Normal people?”

“Farmers’ markets, movies, stuff like that,” Darcy said. “And grocery stores with good cheese.” She’d thrown that one in for herself. “Hey, baby!” she said to the lab mix. “Aren’t you the cutest?”

“I look okay,” Brock joked beside her. Darcy snorted. It was such a guy thing to say. The dog licked her fingers through the crate as Brock wrapped his arms around her waist. It did feel nice, she thought guiltily. She managed to focus on the dogs as they pretended to be the happy couple. By the time they left, both her shirt and leggings were covered in pet hair. Brock grinned as they crossed the parking lot. “You almost took home that Husky,” he said.

“I know!” Darcy said. “But they really need room and exercise. They aren’t apartment dogs. My friend in college had one that could scale her privacy fence.” She sighed wistfully. “I’d need a dog that was small enough to fit on a plane, with Jane’s schedule. Flying pets in cargo is nerve-wracking. They lost a show dog named Vivi once and never found her. That would kill me, Brock.” She shuddered. “I don’t think I would ever be the same if that was my dog. I hope somebody just found her and loved her and didn’t know who she was,” Darcy added. He put his arm around her and squeezed.

“I’m sure that’s what happened,” Brock said. His voice was perfectly calm and reassuring.

“God, you’re a good liar,” Darcy said. He snorted.

“Where are we going now?” he asked.

“I think I need coffee now,” Darcy said. “Thinking about Vivi makes me sad.” 

They were in line at the coffee shop when she had another dog-related thought. “I could never have a bulldog. People love them, but they have all these health problems and I feel like every one I’ve met has died really young. Like, so young.” She looked at Brock. He’d tilted his head at her. “What?” she said.

“You need a miniature poodle,” he said dryly. “My aunt Anita has a bunch of them. They fit on planes and they live forever--of course, they’re grumpy old assholes,” he added.

“Haha,” Darcy said, giving him a look. “It turns out I _like_ having a grumpy old asshole around.” That made him laugh.

“You do, huh?” he said. 

“A little,” she admitted. “When we’re not yelling at each other.” 

“I can tell you’re not Italian, if you think we fight a lot,” Brock said. 

“The first time we met, Jack had restrain you from getting in my face,” Darcy said, as they moved up a step.

“Eh,” he said, shrugging. “I would have apologized later.” She looked at him incredulously.

“Physically restrained by an Australian,” Darcy repeated. “Speaking of, are we still doing dinner with them?”

“Doing dinner with them?” he repeated. “God, we are engaged, Lewis.” His voice was teasing. “Yeah, of course we’ll go. And Ma still wants to meet you, so you’re on the hook ‘til New Year’s,” he told her.

“Okay,” Darcy said doubtfully. She’d had a thought. “How’d your mom like Miranda?” she asked. He snorted.

“Can’t stand each other,” Brock admitted. “Oil and water.”

“Oil and water,” Darcy said, scrunching her nose.

“Uh-huh,” he said. 

“Well, I guess that’s good for me?” Darcy said, putting her hands up like an _oh well_ emoji. 

“What would you like?” the barista asked.

“I keep asking her that, she won’t tell me,” Brock cracked.

“Cut it out,” Darcy said, feeling that he was behaving oddly. He was almost flirtatious. Definitely friendlier. She couldn’t not grin back at him when he grinned at her. “Stop,” she muttered, as they took their coffees and sat down. “Don’t you do that to me.” 

“You want me to do what to you?” he joked, scars twisting as he smirked.

“You’re being charming,” Darcy said, _“on purpose.”_ She stared at him.

“This from a woman who hangs onto me like an octopus and does kissy faces all the time,” he said. “Constantly.”

“Pffhhhht, that’s acting,” she insisted. 

“You saying you don’t like kissing me?” he said. Darcy sputtered, blushing and held up her coffee. “You’re hiding behind your cup now?” he said. He teased her relentlessly and made funny faces. It was like he was a whole different person, Darcy thought. She accidentally vocalized it.

“You’re totally not being yourself,” she argued, looking up from her hands. 

“Sweetheart, we’re friends now,” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “I find this all very confusing.”

  
  


“So,” Brock said that night, “this is what you do with your free time? We go see the dogs, get coffee, and go back to your place and watch reruns of _Frasier?”_ His voice was skeptical. Darcy was roasting some broccoli. She was making Trader Joe’s fried rice, too.

“I’m making vegetables, since you insisted on health food!” she called out. He snorted. 

“You could be going somewhere exciting,” Brock said. “A really good restaurant.”

“We’re going back to _Le Diplomat_ with Roger and Jack,” she said. “Besides, this was a great day. I petted dogs, you made me waffles, and I love _Frasier.”_ She’d stuck her head out of the kitchen. He looked skeptical and shook his head. “Sir,” Darcy said, “This is how normal people live. Also, nothing exploded, there were no aliens, and I didn’t have to get Jane’s stuff through airport security. I consider that a win.”

“Okay,” Brock said. He was smiling now. 

“What do you think a good day is?” Darcy asked. When he laughed, she continued. “That’s a serious question. I’m genuinely interested in what counts as a good day for you.”

“My chute opens okay, I save peoples’ lives, and nobody shoots me,” Brock said, after a moment of thought. “And maybe afterwards, I get to go someplace interesting, like Thailand?”

“Huh,” Darcy said, “okay, yours is more exciting than mine and more heroic.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, shrugging. “It’s a job, Lewis.”

“That was a less good lie,” she said. She could tell he was trying to be modest. “You want to eat on the couch?”

“The couch that’s a bed?” Brock asked wryly.

“I put big pillows at the back!” she said. They ate on the couch-slash-bed. Darcy was laughing at something Niles was doing onscreen when she realized Brock was watching her. “What?” she said. 

“Why’d you and Boothby break up again?” he asked. 

“He left me for his college ex,” Darcy explained. “They had interesting issues.” She turned her eyes back to the screen.

“Well, don’t just say that, tell me,” Brock said, poking broccoli with his fork. Darcy grinned.

“Okay, this is hard to explain, but Ian’s family has money. They have an organic jam business that his parents started from home in the late seventies. It’s very successful now. It’s like the organic Smuckers of England. Which in this country would be no big deal, just a cool thing--”

“Yeah,” he said. 

“But since Ian’s family has money, they want him to have all the educational advantages, right?” she said. “He’s smart, he’s got an aptitude for science.”

“Sure,” he said. 

“So, he goes to all these very nice schools, but the problem is that it’s England, so some of his public school classmates are very old money people with titles and actual castles and stuff? So, they look down on Ian’s family and make fun of him,” Darcy said. “Because they went to nursery school with Prince Harry and he’s the Jam Boy.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Brock said. “Because his parents made fucking jam?”

“Oh my God, yeah,” Darcy said. “It’s honestly so weird. A total class thing. Anyway, he dated Arabella before me, because he was doing astrophysics at the University of Edinburgh and she was at St. Andrews, which is apparently very posh, and one of Ian’s boarding school friends introduced them. She is very pretty,” Darcy admitted. “But her family is one of those old money families with three hyphenated last names.”

“Three?” Brock said.

“Arabella Stepney-Lloyd-Morgan,” Darcy said, giggling. “Two hyphens! I think her middle name is actually Primrose, too.”

“Motherfucker,” Brock said.

“But that’s not the most important part,” Darcy said. “Apparently, she ditched Ian because she didn’t want to be Mrs. Jam Boy. Her fancypants friends would make fun of her. Ian was wildly in love, of course. This messed him all up and for awhile, he didn’t tell anybody he had a trust fund. Like, he didn’t tell me until we’d been living together for a few months. But eventually, Arabella decided she was okay with jam money because she missed him and also, he was doing really well at astrophysics and sort of famous after the Convergence. He’d gone on tv as a science expert and was still all good-looking, obviously.”

“And he just bailed on you?” Brock said.

“She was tall and blonde and I’m sure it was very validating for his dream girl to want him back. I’m just a side character in his story,” she joked. This was how she explained the Ian situation when she wanted to be funny and felt less sad about the whole thing. “Also, I didn’t want to be married. I don’t know why--I just felt like it wasn’t right. I was too young. He brought it up, I just wasn’t there.” This was also true. She just couldn’t see herself married, even if she liked baking and taking care of Jane. Darcy had felt like grownups got married--and she hadn’t felt grownup then.

“Uh-huh,” Brock said.

“You’re still thinking about Primrose, aren’t you?” Darcy said.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yes, Brock,” Darcy said dryly, emphasizing his name. “They’re very happily married now and she’s just plain old Bells Boothby, I think. They’ve got two kids, too.”

“So, this is why you don’t like fancy stuff,” Brock said suddenly.

“Possibly,” Darcy said. “But I’m coming around.” She glanced at her ring. “I really love my jewelry.” She smiled down at her hand.

“Let me buy you more,” Brock said.

“I keep worrying you’ll want it all back and you want to buy more,” Darcy said. “What’s that about?”

“I’ve got enough money for all the things I want,” he said. “So, I buy my mother and my sister things, I’m just adding you to the list of tiny, funny women I bribe to like me, Lewis.” She laughed, but then had an idea.

“What about a place to live that’s not a hotel?” Darcy asked. He grimaced.

“She and I were supposed to do that together,” he said. “Miranda. Before she kicked me out a few weeks ago.”

“Shit,” Darcy said. “My bad.”

“Nah, you’re right. It’s just easy not to think about it yet,” Brock said. 

“What if I help you?” Darcy offered. “Then it really looks like you’ve moved on with me, because you have a new place?” Brock’s expression shifted and he lit up a little.

“You’d help me look for a place?” he said.

“Yes!” Darcy said. “Then I’d be doing a nice thing for you, a really nice thing, not just wearing outfits and making her jealous. That seems more fair.”

“All right,” Brock said. “But I buy you something as a thank you gift.”

“Is it just to make her jealous?” Darcy wondered out loud, marveling at his stubborness.

“It’s more fun to give somebody something when they look so happy,” he said quietly. “You don’t realize that, do you? You look at that ring every five minutes. And you show it to everybody.” 

“Oh,” Darcy said. “I do?” He grinned.

“Yeah,” he said. “Ma does the same thing, she loves jewelry.”

“Awww,” Darcy said. “I hope she likes me, but I think you should tell her the truth.”

“I will,” he said. “But she’s happy now.” They both got quiet. Darcy ate more broccoli, glancing at him. “I thought about buying a really nice car,” Brock said. “But it takes a couple years to get a Lamborghini or a Ferrari and I dunno,” he shrugged.

“Years?” Darcy said, stunned.

“There’s a list,” he said. “You get on the list, they get to you eventually.”

“Whoa. Maybe table that one,” Darcy said. “House first.”

“What kind of car would you want?” he asked quizzically. “If you could have any car?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I wanted a Nissan Cube, but they discontinued it here,” she said. “It looked like a happy little toaster.”

“A toaster?” Brock said.

“It was so square,” she told him, grinning. “Just looking at it made me smile.”

“It doesn’t take much does it?” he teased.

“Nope,” Darcy said. “Also, I’m not like Niles, I think hatchbacks are very practical.” He snorted.

When she walked him to the door that night, Brock looked at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry I showed up drunk,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Darcy said, “now I have a freebie for showing up smashed at your place.”

“Is that a threat?” Brock asked, smirking.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “What if I stop by the office with a surprise this week?”

“What are you plotting?” Brock said, smirking more widely. He was teasing her. “What kind of surprise is this?”

“You’ll find out,” Darcy said. “But it’ll make waves at work.”

* * *

Darcy breezed into the STRIKE floor with a covered foil cake pan and a file folder with printed-out MLS listings. She found Brock in a huddle of agents. “Babe,” she said happily, “I brought you some surprises!” She was wearing another cute Natasha outfit. A red and black top with a heart pattern and a dark pair of pants. She'd paired them with a tiny red bow in her hair. 

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s this?” Brock said. She'd put a bow on the cake pan, too.

“Hot milk cake and MLS listings,” she said. She grinned at the other agents. “We’re condo shopping.”

“She’s making you be responsible,” one of the agents cracked, as Brock reached for her.

“I’ll take that, love,” Jack said, offering to hold the cake. Darcy gave it to him, then kissed Brock with a dramatic flourish. She felt his arms go around her back and his fingers curl around her. It probably looked intense, she thought. He was clutching her shirt.

“Mmm,” Darcy said. Then she looked at the other agents. “I don’t want him to be too responsible,” she said. She patted the bow in her hair. "Did I mention I'm your present?" she asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. There were whistles and laughter. She and Brock were both pretending to stare at each other in infatuation when Jack spoke.

“What’s hot milk cake?” Jack asked. Darcy could tell he was trying not to laugh too much.

“Oh, it’s a vanilla cake with a fudge icing,” Darcy said. “You make the batter with hot milk. That’s a family recipe of a friend.”

“She cooks,” Brock said, clearly bragging.

“I cook a little,” Darcy said, “but I _love_ baking. Which means he’s gonna give you guys lots of cake, probably.” She poked at Brock’s abs. The other agents laughed.

“Yeah, everybody have some uh, hot--what is it again?” Brock said, smirking.

“Hot milk cake,” Darcy said, laughing.

“Have some of that while I go talk to my hot fiancée about where we’re gonna live,” Brock said, swiping the folder of MLS listings from off the top of the covered cake tray. Darcy noticed that the agents all leaned in to peer at the cake. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re just talking,” one of the agents joked as they walked away.

“You’re fucking brilliant,” Brock told her, once they’d snuggled and kissed their way to his office and he’d shut the door.

“Everyone loves cake,” Darcy said, sitting down. “But do look at those MLS listings, I just found some nice condos close to the office. They’re expensive, so if you can give me a budget number--”

“Darcy,” he said, looking up from the folder.

“Yeah?” she said. 

“Let me take you to dinner tonight? Just us,” Brock said.

“Okay.” She thought about it for a second. “I’ve got to go,” Darcy said.

“What?” he asked.

“I want to do something fun with my hair first,” she told him.

“You don’t--” he began.

“No, I want the practice,” Darcy said. “The glue is dry already.”

“What?” he repeated. 

“I made a flower hair pin,” she said excitedly. “I saw a tutorial on Youtube. Hopefully, it looks Billie Holiday and not Mad Hatter.”

“Okay,” he said, grinning. He followed her out of the office, reaching for her hand. “Hair flowers, huh?” he repeated.

“Shhhhh,” Darcy whispered. In the floor’s common area, agents were standing around, eating cake. “Do you like it?” she asked Jack. The Australian beamed at her.

“Best cake ever, darl,” he said. Then he frowned at Brock. “You hang onto her.” Darcy burst out laughing.

“I’m walking her to the elevator!” Brock insisted. 

“I’ll be back,” Darcy said, stepping into the elevator. “Once I’m all done up.”

“You don’t have to,” Brock said. "I like your clothes. Don't change."

“But I want to practice my hair,” Darcy said. They bickered--still holding hands--until the doors started to close. “Ohhh!” Darcy said, pulling her hands back quickly. “Bye!” The elevator shut. She was riding downstairs when Ellis stepped on.

“Hi,” he said. He gave her a polite smile. 

“Hello,” Darcy said, curious to see if he looked troubled. “I’m just here bringing Brock cake, you might be able to snag a piece if you hurry.”

“What kind of cake?” he asked.

“Homemade hot milk cake, it’s no big deal,” Darcy said with false modesty.

“You, uh, cook?” he said. She nodded.

“And now I have to go home and get ready for a date,” she added, thinking _take that, Miranda!_

“That’s nice,” Ellis said.

“I think so,” Darcy said, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory fashion & food notes: 
> 
> Darcy's blouse: https://www.shopyourtv.com/agatha-raisin-season-3-agathas-heart-print-blouse/
> 
> How to Make Pinup Girl Flower clips from Craftster. org: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZf7yLo_BLI
> 
> Flowers in Your Hair--Placing Flowers in Vintage Hairstyles from LisaFreemontStreet: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_agBQ9zfp9o
> 
> Hot milk cake recipe: https://www.thesemisweetsisters.com/2016/02/11/hot-milk-cake-with-fudge-frosting-recipe/
> 
> The hair bow/present bit is courtesy of winchesterxgirl! She sent me a photo of this Target find today and once I stopped shrieking, I said, "Can I put it in a fic?"


	7. It'll Turn Out Great

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“What are you doing?” Jane wondered aloud, when Darcy called her. Darcy had put her hair in hot rollers and was now trying to tease and pin various sections. The style she wanted was loose, but pinned at the sides. It featured curly bangs.

“Trying this hair tutorial before dinner with Brock,” Darcy explained. “I’m doing Lucille Ball’s hair in _Du Barry Was A Lady_ and my new hair flowers.” She was going to wear her red engagement dress again, along with her new earrings. It felt festive.

“What?” Jane said. Darcy could tell Jane was working on a theorem and only half-paying attention.

“It’s the movie where they dyed Lucy’s hair red for the first time,” Darcy said. “It has historical significance!” she added jokingly. “What do you think of these?” She held up the flowers. They were white and pink orchids.

“Lemme see ‘em,” Rocket said, turning Jane’s space tablet and peering into the screen. He was piloting--or was it captaining?-- _The Milano_ and returned his paws to the controls. 

“My hair’s half-done. It’s gonna look like this,” she said, holding the hair flower around her ear.

“Hmpf. Those are fine if you’re after Captain America or something. What dress you got?”

“My red engagement dress,” Darcy said. “It’s on my Instagram.”

“That a good one?” Rocket asked. From somewhere beneath the tablet, Darcy heard a faint scratching noise. A tiny branch appeared at the bottom of the screen, barely visible.

“Bleep tata,” Groot said, holding up another device. Rocket looked down and whistled.

“That’ll do,” he said. “Good job, Lewis. Don’t worry so much about your hair.”

“She likes doing that kind of stuff,” Jane said, writing furiously. “This is fun for her.”

“Right,” Darcy concurred.

“Fun, huh?” Rocket said. He looked critically at her wildly teased bangs.

“It’ll turn out great,” Darcy lied.

  
  
  


* * *

She had such trouble with the curled bangs that she was actually a little late to dinner. “My date is waiting for me,” Darcy said to the hostess. They’d texted each other. “There he is,” she said. Brock was sitting at a table in the corner, half in shadow. It was a dark, romantic sort of restaurant. They had garlands and lights up for the holidays.

“I love your flowers,” the hostess said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, making a face. “My hair made me late!” She followed the hostess to the table and slid in across from him. “Sorry,” she said apologetically, as she took off her winter coat. “I was over-ambitious with my hair.” 

“Lewis, this is for you,” Brock said without preamble, sliding a wrapped present across the table. A smallish box again. 

“More presents?” Darcy said, grinning. “Not even a hello?” 

“You look great,” he added.

“Thank you,” she said. She looked at the box. “Jewelry?” she guessed.

“No,” he said. “You want one of those martinis? They match your hair.” His voice was sly. Brock gestured and Darcy realized a waiter was carrying a pink drink with an orchid floating in the top a few feet away.

“Ooooh,” Darcy said, “yes.” Brock flagged down their waiter so she could order one. She was waiting for her drink when she realized his eyes had drifted to the wrapped box. It had that silver-white department store paper. “Is this something fancy?” she said.

“Not really,” he said, as their waiter arrived with her drink. The waiter sat it down and Darcy thanked him, taking a small sip. It was delicious. A blend of rum, pineapple and pomegranate juices, and simple syrup. Sweet enough to go down easily.

“Oh man,” she said.

“What is it?” Brock asked.

“I’m going to be so smashed if I keep drinking these,” she told him. “It’s too good. I could have two or three and not realize it until you have to carry me out of here.” He laughed at her. She liked his laugh. “Okay, tell me what’s in the box.”

“You don’t have to wear it,” he said. “It’s just an idea I had.”

“Well, if it’s something small enough to fit in here, I probably can’t fit in it,” she said, envisioning a tiny thong. That was the only thing she could think of. He snorted. 

“Open it,” Brock said.

“Okay,” Darcy said, tearing open the paper. Inside was slick beige box with a few words written on the outside. _Obsession. Calvin Klein._ “Ohhhhh,” she said, peeking into the box curiously. “It’s perfume. You bought me more perfume?”

“Power,” he said. “I’m giving you power over me.” His expression was ambiguous. 

“What does that mean?” Darcy said, tearing her eyes away from the box.

“It’s my favorite perfume,” he said slowly, seeming to hesitate over the words.

“Miranda wore it?” Darcy said, connecting the dots. He swallowed, licking his lips.

“No,” he said, “I bought her some once, she didn’t like it, it wasn’t her thing.” He let out a breath. “It’s strong. Different ex wore that, a million fucking years ago. It’s just always been my favorite, because I’m an old man.” He smirked wryly and his scars stretched.

“Ohhhhhhhh,” Darcy said, nodding. “But Miranda knows about it?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking puzzled. “So?”

“So, if I do something on my social media about how much I like it, that might get under her skin?” Darcy asked. She was still irritated about being called vain. 

“Sure,” he said, rubbing his jaw. 

“Okay,” she said, tucking the bottle in her purse. “Thank you so much,” she told him. “This is one of the nicest things you’ve done for me.” She couldn’t help it--she was delighted to be able to show the other woman up. Darcy was grinning to herself, thinking about Miranda’s reaction, when the waiter came to ask them if they were ready to order.

“What’s gotten into you?” Brock asked, when the man left with their menus. 

“I’m still mad she called me shallow, okay?” Darcy said. “I wish I could see her face when she hears I _love_ all the things you give me, even your favorite perfume.” He smirked back at her.

“You’re getting the hang of this, Lewis,” he said.

“Yes, I am,” Darcy said. “Okay, tell me about your day.”

“You wanna hear about my day?” Brock said. “What about your day?”

“You know about my day. I baked you a cake and then I cussed at my hair,” Darcy said, suddenly realizing she was at the end of her martini. “Damn,” she said. “It went too fast.”

“Have another one,” he said.

“Ohhh,” she said. “I really want to, but I drove here.”

“I’ll drive you home,” he said. “I’m switching to water anyway.”

“Okay,” she said. “Twist my arm.” She grinned at him. The candle on the table flickered. “I’ll get a second one and you can tell me about your day,” she bargained. 

“You really want to know?” he said.

“You took a bullet for Jack?” Darcy said incredulously. Brock was telling her SHIELD stories. Most of them were funny, as long as you didn’t think too much about the horrifying parts.

“Yeah,” he said, setting down his water glass. The condensation gleamed in the dim light. Darcy was on her second orchid martini and everything was more beautiful and pleasing. Brock’s face. The restaurant’s Christmas decorations. Her food. The flowers from her drinks now in a pair at the base of her glass. Everything glowed at the edges. “I don’t know how the guy hit me and not the literal tree,” he cracked, “but it happened.”

“So, he owes you one?” Darcy said, smiling. 

“We stopping counting a long time ago,” Brock said. She nodded, thinking about how much she liked Brock. His expression grew serious as she smiled. “He’s been keeping me from going off the edge entirely,” he added. He paused and looked down. “Until we met,” Brock told her.

“And I’ve made your life crazy again?” Darcy said, holding the stem on her glass. Was he going to say something about how strange their fake relationship was? Brock frowned.

“No,” he said. “Lewis, I’m in a good place now. I’m not wasted every night, I feel clear-headed and calm. This thing we’re doing--it’s good for me.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, feeling weirdly relieved. “I thought maybe I was a _bad_ influence.” She giggled.

“Yeah, I have a real wild time with you at the pet adoption thing,” he cracked. “You’re a terrible influence, getting me to stay home and do couples’ shit.”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. “I had a great time at the pet store. I loved that Husky. Didn’t you?”

“He was a good dog,” Brock said dryly. She started to laugh. “What’s gotten into you?” he said.

“I’m so wasted,” Darcy confessed. 

“Two drinks?” he said, raising his eyebrows. There were furrows in his scarred forehead.

“Shut up,” she repeated, more loudly. “I’m going to powder my nose.” He looked at her wryly.

“How long before I send the rescue party?” Brock cracked.

“Shhhh,” Darcy said. She could tell he was watching her walk away. She just hoped she didn’t trip. Darcy was patting down her hair in the mirror when she remembered the bottle in her purse. Should she try it on? Maybe he’d wanted her to try it on, she thought. She hadn’t wanted to spray perfume in a restaurant. She opened the box a little clumsily. “Shit,” she said, trying not to drop the bottle as she uncapped it. He’d said it was strong. She sniffed the sprayer. It smelled nice, she thought. Darcy took a deep breath and spritzed it in her cleavage. 

“Did you want dessert, sweetheart?” he asked, when she walked back to the table.

“Possibly,” Darcy said, sitting next to him instead of across the table.

“What are you doing?” Brock said.

“I’m wearing your power scent,” she said jokingly. “How is it supposed to make me feel powerful again?”

“I didn’t say it would make you powerful,” he said, smirking until his scars twisted, “I said you’d have power over _me.”_

“Really?” she said, holding his gaze. “Do I?” 

“Yeah,” Brock said. He leaned over and kissed her.

“Oh,” Darcy said. This had been a real kiss, she realized. He wanted to kiss. She felt giddy. 

“You’re all flushed,” he said.

“Mmm-hmm,” she admitted, raking her fingers through his hair. His gaze was intense. He licked his lips.

“I, uh,” Brock said, nostrils flaring slightly. He stopped, hesitating. She wanted to encourage him.

“Your place or mine?” Darcy whispered, leaning forward to kiss him again. They were making a small scene when the waiter came over to ask if they wanted the check.

“You’re sure about this?” Brock asked, standing outside his hotel room. Darcy nodded, hanging onto him. She’d been hanging onto him, kissing him, nuzzling him. She glanced up from where she was focused on his neck and realized he was serious.

“Yes,” she said. She beamed at him. He looked at her for a long moment, then swiped his keycard. The door beeped. They stared at each other and he leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Darcy leaned into his embrace. She felt him push the door open slightly. “Ahhh!” Darcy said, laughing, when he abruptly picked her up. “Warn a girl!” she said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, kicking the door shut with his foot and carrying her into the bedroom. “Don’t kick me with your big boots,” he joked, as he put her down at the foot of the bed.

“It’s December,” Darcy said. “And I love a big boot.” She starting unbuttoning his shirt and dropped her eyes down. He was wearing heavy-soled tactical-style boots with his dress clothes. “So do you, sir,” she said archly.

“Yeah,” he said, voice warm. Darcy leaned forward and planted a kiss on his scarred abs.

“These are impressive,” she told him, looking up. His eyes were glued to her. There was a strange look on his face. “You okay?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. She tugged on his sleeves and he shed his shirt.

“You wanna unzip me?” she offered, grinning. 

“Uh-huh,” he said. He’d pitched his tone low.

“Boots first,” Darcy said teasingly. To her surprise, he crouched down and cupped her calf. The zipper slid down with a whir. Their eyes met. “Ohhhhh,” Darcy whispered. He’d touched her leg with his thumb, stroking towards her ankle. The gesture was gentle and thrilling at the same time.

“Yeah?” he said, glancing down. He unzipped the other boot and slid it off her foot.

“I’m going to be wrecked, Brock Rumlow,” she said, then immediately regretted sounding so eager. Before she could say anything else, he was kissing her. She heard the zipper on her dress snap. 

“Shit,” he murmured, pulling back for a second. Brock’s hair brushed against his forehead. She’d sort of mussed it in the hallway.

“Whoops,” Darcy said.

“I’ll replace that,” he said, kissing her again. He was eager, too, she realized. It helped her thudding, nervous heart. She wanted him to like her, Darcy thought, pressing urgent kisses into his skin. 

“Brock,” Darcy whispered. “I’m crazy about you. Crazy.” For a second, he went still. His green-brown eyes were so beautiful, she thought.

“Crazy,” he repeated, thumbs raking over her bare skin. He smirked slowly and started kissing down her body. Darcy craned her chin down to watch him as his mouth moved over her belly. He was being slow on purpose, she realized, eyes going back to her face. 

“Oh God,” she said, arching her back in response to his movements. He chuckled.

“I should, uh, tell you a specific thing about serums,” he said, voice almost casual.

“Yes?” Darcy said, trying to sound calm and not yell anything like _why are you stopping? Don’t stop!_

“You might need to rest more,” he told her, smirking again. 

  
  
  


* * *

“Why are you awake?” Roger said to Jack. He sat up and reached for his glasses. He could hear Jack moving around in the darkened bedroom.

“I have a mission, but first I need to go pick up Darcy’s car for Brock,” Jack said, going still. 

“Who? What?” Roger said.

“Brock’s fiancée. She left her car at the restaurant,” he told Roger.

“You’re going to pick up a car in the middle of the night before work?” Roger asked, frowning. 

“Well, uh,” Jack began. He tried to sound reasonable. “Actually, love, I need you to come along and drive the car back to the hotel,” he said.

“The hotel?” Roger said, sighing. “Would this be the hotel where your old boss has been living like a dissolute exiled monarch?” He set his feet on the floor and switched on the bedside lamp. Jack looked at Roger. Roger’s neat silver hair gleamed under the lamplight. Everything about him was crisp-looking, even his pajamas. He gave Jack one of his disapproving looks. It was vaguely professorial. Jack found them impossible to resist. 

“A dissolute monarch?” Jack said.

“It occurred to me,” Roger said, “on the spur of the moment.” His voice was calm.

“This is good news,” Jack said.

“I thought she was his _fake_ fiancée?” Jack said, standing up. He went into his closet. “What’s the temperature?”

“Forty-three degrees,” Jack said, checking his phone.

“Wonderful,” Roger said dryly. Jack pretended his husband was talking about Brock and Darcy, not the prospect of ferrying vehicles across DC in the cold at three in the morning.

“It’s bloody great news,” Jack said. “I’ve been hoping they would get together. She’s good for him.”

“Really?” Roger said. He sat on the bed and slipped on warm clothes. “Does he know that? I thought this was just to get Miranda back again?”

“They’re getting right cozy,” Jack said. “He’s been buying her all this jewelry and she’s been cooking for him. He’s stopped drinking and staying out so bloody much. If you saw them together, you’d think they were perfect for each other.”

“Jack,” Roger said tenderly. “You know Rumlow. I don’t want you to get your hopes up--”

“She’s the sheila who baked that cake,” Jack said. He’d snuck Roger home a slice that afternoon. “And”---he passed Roger his phone-- “this is her.” Roger took the phone and his expression grew serious. He pushed up his rectangular glasses.

“Well,” he said. “Ava Gardner by way of Gina Lollobrigida.” He handed back the phone. “I know Brock isn’t blind,” he said. “And she does make excellent cake.” He stood again.

“Too right,” Jack said. “So, he asked me for a favor--”

“I understand,” Roger said, sympathetically. “But you should still keep your expectations realistic. This could be a casual fling.” 

“I bloody hope not,” Jack muttered.

“Have you seen my driving moccasins?” Roger asked.

“I think they’re next to your new loafers,” Jack said. Roger had a bit of a shoe problem. But it hurt his feelings when Jack jokingly called him Imelda Marcos. He sulked.

“Those aren’t new,” Roger said. 

“Uh-huh,” Jack said.

“Possibly they were new. There was a sale,” Roger said. “But those are the only ones I’ve bought in months--” he was saying, as Jack tucked his wallet into his back pocket and looked up with a grin.

“I’m bloody tired of dragging him out of bars, Rog. I want to see him well settled. He’d--settling down, marriage’d be good for him,” Jack said, articulating his feelings. He worried about Brock. 

“That’s very Jane Austen of you,” Roger said, concentrating on putting on his shoes. Then he caught the expression on Jack’s face. “Oh, honey.” He smiled. “You _like_ being married.”

“Bloody stop that,” Jack said, blushing slightly. They moved downstairs. “I love being married,” he said in a quiet, serious voice.

“If recall correctly,” Roger said, getting a coat off the coat rack, “Rumlow was the only person who thought I wasn’t too old for you.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Jack said. He grabbed the car keys off the kitchen counter. 

“Let’s hope this woman doesn’t think he’s too old,” Roger said.

“They’re all over each other. At it like eels,” Jack said.

“What an unpleasant mental image,” Roger said, as they stepped outside and Jack locked the door. The drive to the restaurant took no time in the dark. Jack passed Roger a key. “What is this?” Roger asked. The key had no mark or insignia.

“Best not to ask questions, love,” Jack said.

The key opened the car without trouble. “Bizarre and disturbing,” Roger said aloud to himself. SHIELD had all kinds of terrifying tricks. He adjusted the seat as the lights on the dash sprung to life. She must be short, he thought. Darcy’s car was a ten year old Civic. He’d noticed a dent in the back bumper next to one of those “Co-Exist” stickers with an odd little hammer added at the end, but the inside was tidy and smelled like...perfume? He peered around curiously. There was another tiny hammer hanging from the rearview mirror. “Plastic,” he said aloud, touching it. How odd. The radio preset was tuned to a local NPR station, doing the overnight news in between rounds of jazz. Stopped behind Jack at a red light, Roger realized that the perfume smell was emanating from something plugged into the cigarette lighter. A diffuser with a little pad. “Interesting,” Roger said. He’d need to remember to ask her about one of those. They arrived at the hotel. He parked next to Jack.

“I approve of this woman,” Roger said wryly, when he got out of the car. “She keeps a clean vehicle and one of her presents is for public radio. He could do much worse.”

“Rog, don’t let Rumlow hear you,” Jack said. He had his phone out. “I’m calling him to tell him that I’m here.”

“What’s her thing with hammers?” Roger asked.

“She’s Jane Foster’s assistant,” Jack said. “The astrophysicist who dates Thor.”

“Ah,” Roger said. He paused. “She might be too good for him.” Jack gave him a look and passed over their car keys. Jack and Brock were carpooling into work. 

“Go home, love,” Jack mouthed.

“I’ll call you when I get home,” Roger said. He kissed Jack and left him standing on the sidewalk, talking to Brock on his cell phone.

  
  


* * *

Darcy woke up and realized Brock was sitting on the edge of his bed, putting on pants. “Hey,” Darcy said, reaching out to touch his scarred back. His skin felt grooved against her fingers. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, half-turning to look at her. “SHIELD called. We’ve got a mission.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

“Sorry,” he said. Then the corners of his mouth turned up as she began kissing his back slowly. 

“Five more minutes,” Darcy pleaded.

“Jack’s downstairs,” he said. It was almost a sigh.

“Jack likes me,” Darcy said, pressing her body against Brock’s back. She felt him shiver a little. “He won’t mind if you’re a _little_ late, will he?” she said, leaning forward to kiss his burned ears.

“If you keep treating me like this,” Brock said, then went silent.

“Hmmm?” Darcy said, kneading his clothed hips with her hands. She kissed the crease in his neck where his head was turned to look over his shoulder. His eyes flicked to her face.

“I have to go,” he said. “So, you’ve gotta stop, honey.” He pried himself away.

“Boo,” Darcy said, laying back on the pillows. “Will you call me as soon as you get back?” Brock turned to face her as he slipped his t-shirt over his head. He was grinning. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Go back to sleep. And get yourself some room service, okay?”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Darcy called as he left the room. She heard him laugh as the door clicked shut. Darcy patted her head. “Damn it,” she muttered out loud. She’d left her hair flowers in and now they were askew. She probably looked crazy. “Ughhhh,” she said. She needed to get out of bed. She had to pee. But she was tired. So tired. And the sheets still smelled like Brock--along with traces of Obsession. She stumbled a little when she got out of bed.

“Where’ve you been?” Jane asked, when Darcy called her in the afternoon. Darcy was sitting in a fluffy hotel bathrobe, eating breakfast. Brock had called her in a brunch order and had someone come in to change the sheets at eleven. That was the only reason she was actually awake. Darcy yawned.

“Asleep,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” Jane said. “That’s not our apartment.”

“Nope,” Darcy said. She looked around. “Does this mean I’m a kept woman now?” she wondered. 

“No,” Jane said.

“Look at this,” Darcy said, turning her phone screen so Jane could see her breakfast. “This is brioche French toast with Chantilly cream from room service. It’s _twenty_ dollars.”

“She’s a kept woman now,” Rocket said dryly, appearing at Jane’s elbow. There was a tiny, sad bloop from somewhere. “Sorry, Groot,” he added.

“It feels that way,” Darcy admitted. “Should I feel bad for liking it?”

“You been mooning over this guy for ages and now you’ve got him. Why are you complaining?” Rocket said.

“I don’t know,” Darcy said. “He just bought me more perf--oohhhh. Hold on.” She got up, minimized the call screen, and snapped a few photos of her new Obsession bottle lying on his dresser. 

“What are you doing?” Jane called tinnily.

“I’m taking photos of this to drive Miranda crazy,” Darcy said.

“Atta girl,” Rocket said.

“Tell me which one looks fanciest?” Darcy said, opening up the call again. “I’ll text you a few.” Twenty minutes later, she had finished her French toast and posted a filtered photo of the perfume bottle with a caption about her fiancée buying the best gifts. “Okay, Jane,” Darcy said. “I gotta call you back.”

“Where are you going?” Jane said.

“Back to sleep,” Darcy said, yawning again. “Thanks for your help, Rocket.”

“1953 filter, Lewis,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory notes: 
> 
> Whenever I write Jack Rollins with an older husband, I headcanon that he'd be played by someone like Victor Garber. 
> 
> Lucille Ball looked _amazing_ in Du Barry Was A Lady. Honestly, google it. A Vintage Vanity's Lucille Ball hair tutorial: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFzbux3CwfU
> 
> What does an orchid martini look like? Like so:  
> 


	8. Kind of Frivolous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Can I spend your money? Don’t worry about replying to this quickly, if you’re in the middle of an incident or whatever.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Of course you can. 

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** What are you buying?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** A coat. It’s kind of frivolous. With tax, it’ll be about $54

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Be home in a day or so.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Did you just ask my permission to spend $50?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Um, yes? It’s leopard. 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Not real leopard, obvs~!

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** It just makes me feel fun and retro. 

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Buy the damn coat, if makes you happy

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Okay.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** We’re going to have to push back the dinner with Jack.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Okay! No worries [smile emoji]

* * *

“Does he sound mad and grumpy to you?” Darcy asked Jane, puzzling over Brock calling it a “damn coat.” She was baking again. Crème brûlée cheesecake bars, this time. She’d sent Jane a screenshot of her texts from Brock during today’s shopping trip.

“You’re overanalyzing!” Rocket shouted, over the sound of space turbulence. _The Milano_ was going through the space equivalent of a dirt road.

“He could be,” Jane said. “But it’s impossible to tell via text.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, stirring her filling. 

“Whoa!” Quill yelled, grabbing the back of Jane’s chair. He’d tried to walk during the disturbance.

“I told you to stay in your seat,” Jane said, looking down at him on the floor. 

“I’ll shall return him,” Thor said, scooping Peter up and carrying him away. Thor had excellent balance and space turbulence never bugged him.

“Aw, isn’t that sweet?” Rocket said. “Foster, throw some rice.” Thor had Quill in a careful bridal carry.

“Dude!” Quill said, turning pink with embarrassment.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Jane corrected, giving Rocket a scolding look. “What kind of behavior are you modeling for Groot?” she pointed out. 

“Bleep boop,” Groot said, swaying as _The Milano_ dipped. 

“That’s true,” Mantis said, drawing out the last word breathily. 

“You need to be a better role model in general,” Drax said in his calm, deep voice. She couldn’t see him onscreen. 

“I didn’t mean anything serious,” Rocket said. Darcy had to press her lips together, she wanted to laugh so hard. Rocket sounded genuinely sheepish.

“Shit,” Darcy said. She’d skidded the bowl across the counter a little. She’d gotten distracted. “Safe, no spills,” she called out. When she looked at her phone again, Jane had refocused on her.

“Are you stress baking?” Jane said.

“Maybe,” Darcy said, making a face. 

“What’s going on in your head?” Jane asked.

“Okay, go somewhere private,” Darcy said. “Whenever you can stand up.”

“What, you’re shy now?” Rocket asked.

“This is not a Groot-appropriate discussion,” Darcy said.

“Teedle oh,” Groot said, sounding sad.

  
  


“What’s bugging you?” Jane asked, fifteen minutes later. She’d tucked herself into a storage closet on the spaceship. Darcy sighed. 

“I just--I don’t know where he and I are at,” she confessed. She meant Rumlow. “Are we friends with benefits? Is this still mostly an arrangement? Or are we dating?” she wondered.

“Ask him,” Jane said, leaning against a shelf filled with cleaning supplies. “You can’t know until you talk, Darce.”

“Pfffht,” Darcy said. “Easier said than done.” Abruptly, Jane had to catch herself. “Are you okay?” Darcy asked. The ship had rolled.

“I’m fine,” Jane said, rolling her eyes. “If you can have crazy hotel sex with this guy, you can tell him that you want to date.”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said. “Sometimes, I really like him. But he can be cryptic and sarcastic, you know?”

“Sarcasm is a defensive mechanism,” Jane said, grabbing a mop as it swung towards the floor.

“Jane, I really think you should sit down,” Darcy said, worried.

“I’m staying in here,” Jane said.

“Why?” Darcy said.

“Peter has played “Hooked on a Feeling” twenty times today and if I hear it one more time, there will be a murder,” Jane said. She folded herself down onto the floor and Darcy--deciding not to obsess--aimed the phone at her oven’s window.

“Look, cheesecake!” she said to Jane. Cheesecake usually made Jane happy. But the scientist was still frowning.

“I miss you--you always wear earbuds,” Jane said.

“He probably doesn’t have them. We need space FedEx. Can’t we portal you some?” Darcy offered. Jane’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s an idea,” she said. “Can you get one of the books out of my bedroom?”

“Sure,” Darcy said. She stayed on the phone with Jane for more than an hour. By the time they hung up, Darcy’s cheesecake bars were cooling and Jane had some ideas for a prototype. 

* * *

Brock called as she was curled up on the daybed. “Hey, Lewis,” he said. He sounded tired. She tilted her head in alarm.

“You okay?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah,” he said, voice husky. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just more travel than I originally planned. I’ve got a little jetlag--and I miss you,” he added.

“Do you now?” Darcy asked, a little archly. He made a sound between a laugh and a snort.

“You know I do,” Brock said. _No, I really don’t,_ Darcy thought, puzzled by his tone. He must’ve noticed her silence. “I haven’t had this much fun with somebody in a long time,” he said.

“Really?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m just staying here another day.”

“Where’s here?” Darcy asked.

“Melbourne,” he said. “Just for a meeting. It’s very safe.”

“Oh, you’re in Australia?” Darcy asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. “I’m so jealous.”

“You like Australia?” he said.

“I’ve never been. Thor went once, when Jane and I were in Norway. _In the winter,_ I might add,” she said, stressing the words. “He sent us photos of himself at the beach when I was literally getting stuck in snowdrifts. Does everybody go to Australia without me?” Darcy joked.

“Apparently,” Brock said, sounding smug and amused at the same time.

“Unfair!” she said. There was a noise on the other side of the world. “What was that?” she said, suddenly nervous that something was wrong. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Somebody knocked on the door of my hotel room,” Brock said.

“Ohhhh,” she said, relieved. “You’re in a hotel room?”

“Yeah. That’s my date,” Brock said. “I gotta go, sweetheart.” Before he hung up, he added, “I’ll be back soon, all right?”

“Okay,” Darcy said. She promised to save him a cheesecake bar and he laughed.

“You’re gonna kill me--either your desserts or you,” Brock said, voice warm.

“Nah,” Darcy said. “I wanna keep you.” 

“Good,” he said.

She caught herself grinning as she hung up the phone. “Ughhhhh,” she said, pressing her face into a couch pillow. “That’s it, I’m done,” she muttered. “He knows I’m all goofy about him. Ahhhhhhhhhh.” She was so giddy, she celebrated with another cheesecake bar and then conditioned her hair with her favorite vanilla bean mask and watched movies. 

* * *

Brock answered the door. “Hey,” he said. She was standing there with her arms crossed, looking expectantly at him.

“Took you long enough,” Miranda said, tilting her head. 

“I was on the phone with Darcy,” Brock told her.

“Are you ready?” Miranda asked.

“Let me grab my wallet,” Brock said. She scoffed. “What’s that?” he said.

“Is your wallet big enough for this?” she asked. 

“My wallet’s fine,” he said dryly, making a face at her. They left the hotel room together and went down into the lobby. He glanced at her as they walked. “Just say it,” Bock said.

“What?” Miranda said.

“Whatever’s on your mind,” he said. “You’re gonna twist an ankle, stomping like that.” She’d been walking angrily across the hotel’s patterned carpet. A car was waiting outside.

“Shut up,” Miranda said. She jerked the car door open. Someone walking by in the dark looked at Brock in alarm. He shrugged and slipped into the car next to her.

“What’s this guy’s name again?” Brock asked, as she gave the driver directions to the shop.

“Lee. His name is Lee,” she said. “They’re the oldest firm in Melbourne.”

The jewelry store was very luxurious, in an old-fashioned way. Miranda knew the owners. The salesperson waiting for them was so well-trained, she didn’t even flinch at Brock’s burned face. “We’re here to see the Autore Galaxy and Stardust pearl earrings,” Miranda explained, introducing herself. They had to bring them out of the store’s display case along a back wall. He stood next to Miranda and looked down at the cases in front of him. The sparkling things inside made a contrast with his scarred knuckles. The salesperson returned with an elegant leather box. She opened it carefully. Inside was a pair of pearl earrings. Each featured a single large black pearl surrounded by circles of glittering stones. There were diamonds and pink, violet, and deep purple stones. It looked like the rings of a distant planet. Resting on a bed of white fabric, the earrings were astounding. For a moment, he stared, stunned. Miranda had said the galaxy-themed jewelry would be perfect.

“These are Tahitian South Sea pearls. Thirteen millimeter,” the sales woman said. “The rings are made of gradient blends of colored sapphires and diamonds. They retail for twenty-eight thousand dollars. We also have a matching ring for fourteen. Australian.”

"I can figure out conversion," Miranda said, pulling out her phone. She snapped a photo, too.

“They’re beautiful,” Brock said slowly. He was vaguely aware of Miranda on her phone at his elbow. “Incredibly beautiful.” He looked at Miranda. “Thank you.”

He lapsed into silence, thinking. The sales woman smiled pleasantly. He tapped the glass surface with his fingers. These were the most expensive gifts he’d ever purchased, outside of paying off several family mortgages. Serious jewels. Not a typical gift.

“Would you mind giving us a moment?” Miranda asked suddenly. The saleswoman nodded and stepped away. Miranda looked at him curiously. “Why are you nervous?” she said. “You’re actually nervous.”

“I don’t know,” Brock said. To his surprise, she actually grinned.

“You asshole,” she told him. “I spent four years with you--”

“It was two and half, if you count the time we actually lived in the same city,” Brock corrected. They’d been separated, either stationed apart or fighting, for a good chunk of time.

“Don’t you do that,” she said, shaking her head. “You were a giant mess for _years._ I tried to get you into therapy, I dragged you to yoga retreats, I did everything I could think of, and this girl and her magical vagina fix you like that,” Miranda said, snapping her fingers. 

“She fixed me?” he said. He looked at her incredulously and then lowered his voice. “Fuck you,” he said lightly, “ _I_ fixed me.”

“Oh my God, you are so damn stubborn,” Miranda said. 

“Maybe it was a reaction to you moving Ellis in before my damn socks were even gone,” Brock cut in.

“You’d been sleeping on the couch for six months,” Miranda said quietly. “We weren’t happy. You know what my big issue was.” She had wanted kids; Brock wasn’t ready. He couldn’t imagine being a father. He still couldn’t. Miranda had been so ready that he’d caught her weeping once when they’d babysat for her sister.

“You’re happy with him, aren’t you?” Brock said. That had gnawed at him, her probable happiness with someone else. Especially Ellis. A coworker. 

“Yes,” she said. “Really happy.” She sighed.

“What?” he asked.

“Chris is worried,” Miranda said. Chris was Ellis’s first name.

“Why?” Brock asked.

“I don’t know. I think _he_ thinks I’m upset about you and Lewis,” she said.

“You are,” Brock said.

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m not upset about that, I’m upset that I tried--again--for years and you just dug in. Like an ass,” she said.

“I don’t like being told what to do,” Brock admitted slowly.

“Such an ass,” Miranda muttered. “Ugh! You know what it is about her? It’s not that she tased Thor and it’s not the boobs, either. It’s that she’s got that thing your mother has.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Brock said, raising his voice slightly. The saleswoman looked horrified. “Sorry,” he said apologetically.

“She cooks, for one,” Miranda said. “She does that smother you in food thing--”

“Smother me in food?” he said, incredulous.

“Like your mother, she expresses affection with food. And she’s got the super feminine, big hair thing, too,” she added. “They even look a little alike--”

“They do not,” Brock said. Miranda rolled her eyes.

“Very feminine, big hair, probably would wear fur, slight movie star vibe,” Miranda said dryly. She crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. “Where’s the lie?”

“She likes animals. Lewis wouldn’t wear fu--shit,” Brock said. He’d just remembered the little selfie she’d sent him wearing the fake leopard coat and laughing into the camera. “Shit,” he repeated. His mother had a collection of actual furs, most of them decades old and purchased used from the famous “Mr. Jeffrey” of Ritz Furs on 29th Street. She had an affinity for mink and gold jewelry.

“Uh-huh,” Miranda said. “You’re not freaked out by the idea of marrying her, because you grew up with someone like that and you love your mother. You don’t view her as the competition.” One of their old arguments was about both of them being too competitive. Miranda didn’t mind competition, but she thought Brock took it too far. He’d possibly injured himself, post-Triskelion, trying to do too much. She thought he was being reckless.

“There’s nothing wrong with loving your mother,” he said, almost grimly. “Shit.” Miranda repressed a giggle. He glared at her.

“What the hell is your problem?” he said. Her face went a little funny.

“We’ve been trying and I’m not pregnant yet,” she said in a quiet voice. “I mean, it’s only been two months, but--” her voice trailed off.

“Fuck,” Brock said sympathetically, immediately putting an arm around her. “Honey, I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing her shoulder as she leaned forward. She was hiding her face when the saleswoman came back over.

“Can I assist?” she asked them. She offered tissues from a mirrored box.

“Uh--” Brock said. “Thank you.”

“Lots of people cry when they get gifts,” the saleswoman said.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Miranda said. She took a tissue and dabbed at her eye. “And those are not for me,” she added. “They are for his fiancée, who is young and beautiful and loves him very much.” She looked at Brock. “Get them. They’re perfect for Darcy.”

“Eh,” Brock said slowly. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re kidding,” Miranda said.

“She’s not that fancy, really,” he said to the saleswoman. “These are fuc--they’re really, really gorgeous,” he corrected, “but I’m afraid she’d worry about losing them. Do you have anything smaller?” 

“Smaller?” Miranda said incredulously.

“She likes little jewelry,” he said. “White metals.” He looked around. “And let’s see that bracelet.”

“That’s not little,” Miranda said. It was an angular bangle.

“That’s for you,” Brock told her. 

“Brock--” she began, as the saleswoman took the galaxy-themed earrings back to the case at the back of the shop. “I’m not taking this. I love Chris.” He looked at her.

“I know that. Consider it an apology for that time I puked in your favorite shoes,” he offered. She looked taken aback, then mollified.

“I can handle that,” Miranda said. She re-fluffed her hair in the mirror on the counter. “Little jewelry?”

“You know those Tiffany hearts? She likes the mini one with the diamonds, but it’s discontinued,” he said, sighing.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Fucking tiny.”

They left with a gold and white pearl ring for his mother, too. Miranda adjusted the new bracelet on her wrist. “I can’t believe you didn’t get Darcy anything,” Miranda said in the car.

“Those were beautiful,” Brock said. Miranda had basically found them for him; she’d remembered the collection of galaxy-themed jewelry from a show when she overheard him talking about buying Darcy a present. “And I appreciate you doing that for me. But Darcy--she’s not used to things like that,” he said. He rubbed his jaw. “They were broke,” he added. At Miranda’s look, he clarified. “She and Foster. Darcy lived on mac n’ cheese and slept on a pull out sofa in Foster’s mother’s house in London. Romanoff told me,” he explained.

“Oh,” Miranda said. She looked out the window. “Oh my God!” she said suddenly. “You had a thing about her. You were _obsessed_ with Foster’s assistant because she played that prank on you.” She started to laugh. “I’d totally forgotten!”

“Shut up,” Brock said, grinning.

“You were fixated. You wanted to have sex with her back then, didn’t you? But we were together,” she said. “Sort of.” 

“I dunno,” he, hesitating. “She did make me crazy.”

“This is amazing,” Miranda said. “Amazing.” She laughed. “Only you would instantly commit to someone by feuding with them and then proposing years later.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Brock said. 

“You love feuds, you’re still a little mad at Cap because of that elevator fight,” she said.

“When you say ‘this isn’t personal,’ shouldn’t the super soldier realize you’re trying to drop a damn hint?” Brock said. Miranda snorted. “But no, he just slams me into the ceiling--”

“You bicker with your mother, too, I hope you realize that,” Miranda interrupted. “Constant bickering.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Brock said, putting his hand over his eyes. 

“You know what means, though,” Miranda said.

“What?” he said, sounding horrified.

“She had a thing about you, too,” she said gleefully.

“You think so?” Brock said, voice shifting.

“Duh. You really should buy her something nice. What else does she like?” Miranda asked.

“Antique stuff,” Brock said. “Music, books--” He gestured. Outside the car window, they were passing a bookstore. In the windows, there was a display of books around a cardboard cut out of a woman in a flapper dress. “And that TV show,” he said. 

“Art deco?” Miranda said.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“So, we find the antique dealers. I’ll change the flight,” she said.

“Is it weird that we’re getting along?” Brock said. He glanced at her.

“Because this is like working, not dating,” she said. “When have we ever disagreed at work? Also, you actually listen to my opinion on jewelry.” He snorted, then realized she wanted to say something. She hesitated. 

“What?” he asked.

“You should have bought those earrings though, those were once in a lifetime,” Miranda said. “Why didn’t you?”

“I dunno,” he muttered.

“I can tell when you’re lying,” she said calmly.

  
  


* * *

“I’m wearing that gorgeous tie-front blouse and my pencil skirt,” Darcy said. “The one that’s burgundy?”

“Where are you going?” Jane asked, as they talked on the phone about portals the next day. Darcy had done her hair, gotten dressed, and was boxing up the bars.

“I’ve got to take these cheesecake bars to SHIELD or something,” she told Jane. “It’s just me and reruns of _The Thin Man_ and _It’s A Wonderful Life,_ I’m inhaling them at a terrifying rate. I need you and Thor back before I go into sugar shock. Also, I want somewhere to wear my new coat, I’m bored.” Jane laughed.

“Just don’t rant at me about Donna Reed again,” she said. 

“She would be Pottersville’s hottest single lady librarian, I’m insistent on that,” Darcy said. “Alternative universe Mary is the most unrealistic part of that whole movie, up to and including the angels. She would either be single and still a babe or married to that rich dude.”

“Yes,” Jane said, in the politely distant voice of someone who’d decided not to touch a subject. 

“That’s it, that’s the end of my rant. I’m just reaffirming my position,” Darcy said, laughing.

“Oh thank God,” Jane said. “Now, about the math--”

“I’m just going to pretend to understand this part,” Darcy said. Jane liked to talk out her math problems. To Darcy’s eternal delight, she normally solved them herself. Darcy put Jane on speaker and kept up a reassuring round of _ummm-hmms_ and repeated _that sounds right_ a few times on the drive to SHIELD. 

* * *

Darcy was leaving SHIELD when she ran into Ellis again. “Hi, Darcy,” he said.

“Hi,” she said, as he stopped in front of her, smiling. “I was just dropping off some cheesecake bars,” she added. They talked about holiday plans for a bit. He seemed to be assuming that she and Brock would be in New York. Darcy played along.

“You’re probably excited about this trip they’re on, right?” Ellis said.

“Mmm?” Darcy said. She’d been nodding politely.

“Miranda sent me a photo of those earrings, they’re amazing,” he said.

“What?” Darcy said, not following. “What earrings?” 

“Oh, shit,” he said, expression going horrified. “I might’ve fucked up.”

“Really?” Darcy said, restraining herself from crossing her arms. “Why don’t we have coffee downstairs and talk about it?” she suggested, grinning. 

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he said. They got on the elevator. He sighed. “Oh, man. Please don’t be upset. Miranda’s gonna kill me.” He was literally fidgeting.

“It’s fine, I’m not mad,” Darcy said, taking pity on him.

“I always do this, though,” he said, sighing again.

“Do what?” she asked. 

“I just open my mouth and like _stupid things_ come out. Does that ever happen to you?” he asked. “Of course it doesn’t--”

“Um, well, I tend to be unfiltered,” Darcy said. “And I fall down a lot.” He looked at her and started to laugh. 

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” he said. 

“Nope,” she insisted. “I fell into a cake at an Asgardian party once.”

 _“Into_ a cake?” he said.

“I’m very talented,” Darcy said. She gestured. “Whole back of my dress was covered in cake frosting.” He grinned at her. It was dawning on Darcy that Ellis was less a squared jawed and stoic SHIELD poster boy and more of a good-natured, albeit extremely handsome, frat boy. He confirmed it by telling her that he’d played baseball in college, had a chocolate lab named Wrigley, and actually liked Marshmallow Mochas from the coffee shop. He was very animated and personable. “You’ve got a little melted marshmallow on your nose,” Darcy said, as they sat across from each other.

“Oh, man,” he said, making a funny face. “I do this all the time.”

“Possibly I’ve given you my klutziness,” she said, smiling back. 

“Thanks. I always wanted that for Christmas,” he cracked and she burst out laughing. 

“So, you and Miranda want to elope over the holiday?” Darcy said, wildly curious about how he felt about Miranda and Brock being together. In another country! Darcy was a little pissed about it, even if her rational brain told her she had no right to be.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just always thought it would be cool to be married in, like, Hawaii?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. He sighed again. “What?”

“But I dunno if she really wants to do that or if it just seems simpler right now. Miranda’s the coolest person,” he said. “When I heard she and Rumlow broke up, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it when she went out with me, either, much less--I’m just a regular dude, you know?” he said, looking genuinely perplexed.

“Oh,” Darcy said, wondering if there had been less overlap between Brock and Ellis than she’d originally thought. At the moment, he looked oddly like a labrador waiting for you to throw a tennis ball--eyes worried, brow furrowed in concentration. He gestured again, shrugging.

“She’s just so great. I felt like I had to lock that down!” He laughed. “I mean, my uncle’s famous, but I had a normal upbringing and stuff--”

“Same,” Darcy said, thinking all the extraordinary people she knew. “I mean, I know Thor, but I wanted those light up tennis shoes like every other kid.” He brightened, nodding.

“Oh, man, I loved those shoes! Did you get fun laces?”

“Pink and purple,” Darcy said, laughing. They both looked at each other and then back down at their coffees. He spoke first.

“And Miranda and Rumlow were like the Brad and Angelina of SHIELD, you know? He’s been running Alpha since Hill recruited me. So, I kinda feel like everyone’s comparing us--” he said quietly.

“Oh, yeah, I know that one, too,” Darcy said. “But you’re not upset they’re on this trip?”

“No, I mean, I know nothing’s gonna happen,” he said. “They wouldn’t--they’re both good people, I know that.” He paused and looked profoundly guilty. “I don’t worry about _now._ I worry about, like, five years from now. I hate myself for thinking this.” Darcy nodded. “But I worry she’s gonna decide I’m boring, once everything settles down. I’m a regular guy, I like tacos and beer. I’m not rich or fancy. I mean, it’s kinda been a whirlwind, since I proposed--”

“You proposed really quickly?” Darcy said.

“Uhhh,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Fourth date? Fifth date,” he said. “She thought I was kidding.”

“Ohhh,” Darcy said. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t know why everybody thinks I’m kidding.” He made a funny face.

“You had _that_ ring on the fifth date?” Darcy said, then wanted to take the words back. She was afraid she’d sounded judgy.

“God, no. We did that together. I knew I couldn’t pick out a ring by myself,” Ellis said. “No way, no how.”

“Ohhh,” Darcy said. 

“I knew she knew her stuff,” he said. “I don’t have a clue about that kind of stuff.”

“Chris,” Darcy said slowly. “How did you know about the earrings?”

“She sent me a photo,” he said. 

“Can I see it?” Darcy asked. She smiled at him in what she hoped was a coaxing manner. He looked suddenly anxious.

“I don’t want to, like, ruin Christmas,” he said, visibly wincing.

“Out with it, Chris,” she said, holding out her hand for the phone. “What if they’re ugly? I need to practice my face if they’re ugly, okay?” He laughed, nodding. Ellis found the photo, then passed the phone to her. “Oh my God,” Darcy said. On the screen, there was a pair of dazzling earrings. Dark pearls surrounded by diamonds and purple stones. They were stunning. 

“They had to go to Melbourne on the way back from that mission because there’s only like one or two of these in the world,” he said. “I think?”

“He’s buying me these for Christmas?” Darcy said.

“That’s what Miranda said,” Ellis told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hat tip to LittleMrs.Cookie for sending me a photo of a really beautiful wine-colored wrap blouse with a bow. I loved that. 
> 
> Also, I swear that I read a really good profile of Ritz Furs in a magazine a million years ago. Allure? Elle? It was all about this shop in NYC that sells used furs and how repairs and reworkings of furs are this niche industry in the old fur district of Manhattan now. I think it was Ritz Furs, but this article was probably pre-2005, so I'm not sure. 
> 
> My headcanon for Ellis is handsome goofball Eddie McClintock. 
> 
> Obligatory fashion notes---really, really long ones, LOL. Sorry! Too good not to include! This is a very frivolous, fun-to-write chapter. I stumbled across these Autore galaxy-themed earrings and rings on Pinterest and knew I had to put them in this story. They're _incredible._ Just amazing. There's literally only one pair of the earrings (the gold & white scheme for twenty-some thousand AUD) left for sale on the company's website. The collection was made by an Australian pearl company and shown at a big jewelry expo in 2017 or something. I suspect they probably only made a few or maybe even just one, at that price.
> 
> Stardust pearl earrings with dark pearls (my fave version of the color scheme, just all luscious and sparkly purples, pinks, and violets): https://www.professionaljeweller.com/pics-baselworld-unveils-statement-jewellery/#jp-carousel-40635
> 
> Close up/huge detail on the earring: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ed/6c/32/ed6c32120aa4c19a3ad8d461c3210dea.jpg
> 
> Autore Stardust spiral galaxy rings: http://www.thejewelleryeditor.com/shop/product/autore-stardust-spiral-galaxy-pearl-rings/  
>    
> Images, if those links don't work:
> 
>   
> 


	9. The Most Wonderful Time of The Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“I don’t know,” Brock said, studying a large aquamarine ring. “She’s short, she’s got tiny hands. This seems too big.” Miranda sighed. They were at their fifth store. He and Miranda had trekked all over the city. Miranda had started joking that they’d been to every jewelry store on this side of the Yarra. He’d seriously debated a pair of Edwardian ruby and diamond earrings, but worried that Darcy would fret over an antique--and the hooks were gold. She didn’t like gold.

“I forgot you were like this,” she said. At his look, she continued. “Stubborn, hard-headed, obsessive--”

“It has to be something she’d actually wear,” Brock said, ignoring her rant. “I want her to _like_ it.”

“Of course she’ll like it, she loves you,” Miranda told him. “You’re engaged, remember?” she added. Brock frowned. 

“Nah,” he said, returning the aquamarine to the sales assistant. She smiled at Miranda sympathetically. 

“Dear God,” Miranda muttered. He took a few steps down the jewelry case, trailed by Miranda and the sales assistant on the other side of the counter. Abruptly, he stopped at a sign. 

“Pink diamonds?” Brock asked. He looked at the sales assistant. She smiled.

“These are quite special. Argyle pink diamonds from the mine in Kimberley. They’re some of the only naturally occurring pink diamonds in the world,” she said.

“I thought it was something like ninety percent of the world’s pink diamonds?” Miranda interjected. 

“Well,” the sales person said awkwardly.

“Ninety percent, a hundred percent,” Brock said, shrugging. “Don’t be a killjoy.”

“I’m not being a killjoy,” Miranda muttered. “My feet hurt.”

“The thing that makes them special is that the mine just closed,” the assistant said. 

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. He looked down. “Can I see that necklace?” he asked. It was an oval white diamond pendant with a single pink diamond at the center. Small. Delicate. Feminine without being too fussy. The assistant lifted the necklace out. Brock held it up. “This is nice,” he said. It swung nicely. The pink diamond was set in a little bezel of rose gold, but the rest of the piece was white metal. “What do you think?” 

“What?” Miranda said. 

“I think she’ll wear this, it’s like her,” Brock said. “And I just won’t tell her the price. Two thousand’s not bad.” 

“We also have Argyle chocolate diamonds,” the sales woman said, smiling more widely. “We think they’ll be the next trend.”

“Oh yeah?” Brock said. “Chocolate, huh?” The sales assistant had gone for a tray when Miranda yanked on his arm.

“No,” Miranda whispered fiercely, trying not to be overheard. “You cannot, Brock.” She dragged him a few inches away from the jewelry case and they had a heated battle of whispers. 

“What? Ow. Why are you stabbing me with your damn nails?” he asked, startled.

“They’re just terrible quality diamonds they’ve given a fancy name to--it’s all marketing hype,” she whispered. She scoffed quietly. “Chocolate diamonds. It’s ridiculous!”

“She likes chocolate--”

“Literally, industrial diamonds,” Miranda said. “That mine does industrial diamonds.”

“Will you shut up and just let me look at the fucking things?” he said. He stepped back over to the counter. The sales associate wasn’t back yet.

“I bring you to see something _incredible_ and we’re leaving with chocolate diamonds?” Miranda said, arms crossed. “Drill bit diamonds. This is so you.”

“Yeah, well,” Brock said. “That’s why you’re not marrying me and I’m not marrying you.” The assistant sat down a tray, looking nervously at them. “We’re not together,” Brock said. “She’s just here to give me a second opinion.”

“He doesn’t listen,” Miranda said. He glared at her.

“Darcy likes brown,” he said. “Pink and brown.” He picked up a bracelet of white and brown diamonds. “This is nice,” he said lightly. The white diamond segments were separated by small brown diamonds bezel set in rose gold.

“I’ve never seen her wear brown,” Miranda said. “Literally never.”

“Her favorite boots are brown,” Brock said. “And on our first date she wore a brown sweater and a pink hat.” Miranda huffed. Loudly. He grinned.

“You’re fucking with me,” she said suddenly. “You don’t really _intend_ to buy her that. You wouldn’t!”

“Me?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

* * *

“I’m still freaking out,” Darcy said into the phone. They were video calling. Jane’s nose was visible on the other side of space. 

“Do you have it?” Jane said. “Put on the safety glasses and maintain distance.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, readjusting her goggles. She sat the red foil wrapped Reese’s cup inside the metal box on the counter. It was a repurposed toaster oven. She moved back across the room. “It’s ready,” she said. “Go.” She watched the Reese’s cup curiously. They were running an experiment. Trying to portal things onto _The Milano._ Darcy had voted for experimental candy as a starting point. "But I really can't believe he'd spend that much!"

“Darcy,” Jane said, sighing. “Not this again. Five.” Darcy cranked the knob on the toaster. There was a faint hum in the air. 

“Well, I’m saying, I can’t--oh, my hair is standing up!” Darcy said. A strand of her hair had lifted up. 

“Back up!” Jane said. Darcy backed up. On the counter, the oven emanated a faint glow. It lasted a moment, then sputtered out.

“Damn,” Darcy said. The Reese’s was still inside.

“We’re increasing the voltage on our end,” Jane said. Darcy listened to them discuss battery combinations and sighed.

“Let her talk about him, Foster,” Rocket said. “And her princess earrings.” His voice was wry.

“Thank you!” Darcy said. “I mean, they’re beautiful, but where will I wear them--”

“Make him take you someplace nice,” Rocket said, grunting as he tightened a bolt. Jane sighed.

“I just want to have one conversation that passes the Bechdel test, okay?” she said, “Just one!”

Rocket snorted, but Darcy felt slightly offended.

“Excuse me,” she said. “This is about me figuring out how to deal with receiving a tremendously expensive, impractical gift from someone I do care about--I don’t want to hurt his feelings. And I don’t see how it’s _more_ feminist for us to talk about the rest of my day, or my feelings about _The Crypt of Tears_ movie--”

“How was it?” Rocket asked. Darcy had watched the Miss Fisher movie last night.

“Disappointing, character-wise,” Darcy said. “I didn’t think Jack Robinson would behave like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Rocket said. 

“The costumes were amazing, though. I wanted to see more of the gold dress. And I really liked the hat she wore with PF sweater,” Darcy said. “I want both of those.” She paused. “Do you think I’d look good with bangs?”

“You look great with bangs,” Jane said. “But you only like them for a week and then you want to grow them out again.”

“Fine,” Darcy grumbled. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m being honest,” Jane said. “Why do you get mad when I’m being honest?!”

“You two bicker a lot when you’re working,” Rocket mused. “Tell me about this movie, Lewis.”

“It was kinda like Indiana Jones?” Darcy said. “But nowhere near as fun as _The Mummy._ And I didn’t think they did enough with post-WWI politics in the Middle East, if they were going to mention it at all. Like, there are _tons_ of more interesting storylines than the butler did it!”

“The who?” Rocket said.

“You do not want to know,” Darcy said, sighing. “Are we ready yet?”

“No,” Jane said. 

“I mean, the _aliyah_ politics in the “Raisins and Almonds” episode was much more nuanced than that whole movie,” Darcy said, shaking her head. Jane _hmm’d_ in acknowledgement. She looked around the room. Darcy had just bought a new Christmas tree after finding that their old white tree had half its multicolor lights missing this year. She was going to miss the vaguely Peanuts vibe from the little four foot tree. “Did I tell you that I got us a new holiday tree?” Darcy added. “The white tree kicked the bucket, Janeybug.”

“Oh, no!” Jane said.

“Half of Snowball’s lights died. But look, this one is splendid,” Darcy said. She turned the phone towards the box. Inside, the branches glittered. “I sprung for the six foot! It’s technically rose gold, but the color is really more of a champagne color. It’s between gold and silver. I don’t know how, but it is.”

“Nice,” Rocket said. “Glittery.”

“Yep,” Darcy said, nodding. “Thank you.” They lapsed into silence. Goggles still on, Darcy fiddled with the base of her new tree. She had the base sitting on the floor and was arranging branches so they weren’t all squished flat when Jane spoke again. Something had _clinked_ on the other side of space.

“Oh, for God’s sake, talk about the earrings!” Jane said in frustration.

“She can’t get her bolts secured,” Rocket said slyly. “I think you should be able to talk about it.”

“Thank you!” Darcy said, tree half-assembled. 

“I can’t think when nobody’s talking,” Jane confessed. 

“I just don’t know how I’m going to respond if he gives them to me,” Darcy said. “I used that photo Ellis sent me and did a google image search--they’re _twenty thousand dollars.”_ Rocket whistled. “Right?” Darcy said. “I mean, I didn’t do the conversion to US dollars, they could be more. I can’t wear something that expensive! I’d worry constantly. But if I say no, that’ll hurt his feelings.”

“So, this guy’s not hurting for money, huh?” Rocket said. “I like him, Lewis.”

“You’re mercenary,” Jane said to the raccoon, tightening her jaw as she tightened a bolt.

“I’m practical,” Rocket said. “What, you don’t want your best friend to have nice things? Besides, she likes this guy, so him buying her stuff’s just a bonus.”

“That’s very Lorelei Lee of you,” Darcy said. Lorelei Lee was Marilyn Monroe’s character in _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes._ “Are you going to tell me that I’ll have more time for being in love if I’m not worried about money?” she joked. That was more or less Marilyn’s onscreen advice to costar Jane Russell.

“Yeah,” Rocket said. “You should listen to that Lee chick, Lewis.” Darcy dissolved into giggles. 

“She would probably take the earrings,” she said, between bouts of giggling.

“I’ve got it!” Jane said. 

“All right,” Darcy said. “What setting should I put the toaster on?”

“Try six again,” Jane said. Darcy re-secured her goggles, marched over to the toaster, adjusted the knob, and stepped back. 

“It’s ready!” she said. A few seconds later, there was a tiny hum and the toaster lit up inside. It started to shake. Inside the Reese’s cup rose slightly. “It’s working! It’s working,” Darcy said. Her declaration was followed by a _pop._ “It’s gone! It’s gone!” Darcy yelled. 

“Yes!” Jane said. “We have Reese’s!” 

She and Jane were beaming at each other when Rocket peered into the screen, licking his paws. “These things aren’t bad, Lewis,” he said.

* * *

“I can’t believe you just got her a book,” Miranda said, as they got on the plane. She and Brock were flying back to the US. He frowned.

“I’m not happy, either,” he said. “But she likes these Kerry Greenwood books. And this one’s only out here. Won’t be available back home until this summer.” He sighed. A wrapped copy of Greenwood’s _Death in Daylesford_ had been carefully tucked inside his carry-on bag. On the cover, the illustrated Phryne Fisher had on a pair of long earrings that were surprisingly similar to the ones he’d bought Darcy. He’d decided against the pink diamond necklace after Miranda went on a long rant about how he could buy a beautiful padaparascha sapphire with that money. He looked at her. 

“What?” she said.

“I was with you too long,” he said dryly. “You always picked out your own presents.” He pushed away the thought that maybe Darcy was harder to shop for because she didn’t want specific things, like Miranda had--and that Miranda was blunt enough to tell him if she didn’t like something. He suspected Darcy would politely lie.

“Because you are impossible to shop with--” Miranda said back, glaring. Their bickering was interrupted by the Quantus attendant beginning an announcement about seatbelts and safety protocols. 

* * *

After the first successful experiment, Darcy moved several items through space. There had been a lot of jumping up and down. The crew of the _Milano_ was now the owner of a tin of Trader Joe’s Jingle Jangle, Jane had sent her a photo of Thor happily muching the seasonal Sugar Cookie Toast Crunch she’d sent him, and Jane had received several books in good condition. But Darcy was a little tired. She’d maybe hurt her back in all the mêlée of shouting and waving her arms in front of the phone. Also, she’d eaten multiple Reese’s Cups and had bits of artificial tree stuck to her slippers. She finished setting up the tree and took a bath to help her aching back. She wondered what Brock was up to, then realized he’d texted her while she was in the tub. She knew he was flying back, but it was a long flight. She called him. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said. 

“Hello,” Darcy said, sinking down on the couch in fresh pajamas. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“I maybe pulled my back a little setting up the Christmas tree,” she told him, deciding to omit anything detailed about Jane’s experiment. Jane would be cranky if SHIELD decided to take an interest. 

“I saw that,” he told her. “Looks nice. You like that champagne color?”

“I do,” Darcy said. She realized he’d left another nice comment on her Instagram photo. “How’d your mission go?” she said, wildly curious about he would answer. To her surprise, he sighed heavily. 

“Didn’t go the way I expected,” he said.

“Really?” Darcy said. Ellis had left her with the impression that he and Miranda were just shopping for her. How could it go wrong?

“Yeah,” he said. He sounded tired. “What else have you done today?”

“I talked to my mom,” Darcy said, laughing at the memory. Her mother was funny.

“Oh, yeah?” Brock said. “What does she think of all this?”

“Oh, she is very amused by us. She keeps asking if I’ve met my mother in law yet, she thinks that’s hilarious,” Darcy told him.

“Really?” he said, sounding perplexed.

“She and my dad divorced when I was young,” Darcy explained. “And she never got along with my dad’s mother, so mother in law is a bad word. Well, nobody got along with Grandma, she was kinda scary. And plus, Mom knows I don’t really want to get married or have kids and she’s fine with that--”

“W--what?” Brock said, sounding like he was coughing slightly.

“Oh God, not you, too,” Darcy said. “This is why I don’t _tell_ people. They all think women who don’t want kids are sociopaths. I like kids, I really do. But I take parenting seriously, so I always wanted to be, like, the fun aunt, you know?”

“You don’t want kids?” he repeated quietly.

“Nope,” she said, trying for breezy. “I’ve told Jane she has to have one, so I can give Bam-Bam of Asgard back to her when he cries or anybody has to make a really important decision about schools. I’ll be responsible for buying him _Walter the Farting Dog_ and all the annoying, noisy presents.”

“Bam-Bam’s an Asgardian name?” Brock said, sounding like he was laughing.

“That’s what I’m calling him,” Darcy said, stretching out her toes and wiggling them. “What’s that noise? Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes,” Brock said. “I should probably tell you not to give my mother that speech.”

“Awww, boo. I can’t?” Darcy said, feeling a weird urge to be naughty. “My mom has always been chill about it. She’s perfectly fine with having a dog grandchild. She’s gonna buy it little outfits.”

“Your mom is fine with it?” he said.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “But this is also the person who heckled the _Titanic_ movie, so keep that in mind.”

“She what?” he asked.

“She kept asking me when the boat was gonna sink and for years afterwards, she told people the movie was longer than the actual sinking,” Darcy said.

“She’s your mother, then,” Brock said. He sounded amused. 

“We’re pretty sure about it,” she said. “How many hours until you get here?”

“A million fucking hours,” he said, sighing.

“Okay,” she said, wondering what had happened. She was going to ask him some questions when Broke spoke.

“Your mother doesn’t think I’m too old, right?” he asked. 

“Oh, she’s already making jokes about that, too,” Darcy said. 

“What?”

“That she should have known when I liked all those old movies as a teenager, I’d end up fake engaged to an old guy,” she told him mirthfully.

“Fantastic,” Brock said.

“Speaking of,” Darcy said. “Have I given you my speech about how much better _Christmas in Connecticut_ is than _It’s A Wonderful Life?”_

“You haven’t,” he said. She couldn’t tell if he was bored or not.

“Oh, good,” Darcy said, “since you’re trapped on a quinjet and can’t run away.” He laughed. “Let me start by telling you that it stars Babs Stanwyck--the genuine babe from _All About Eve_ \--as a single lady writer pretending to be married and a great cook.”

“Uh-huh. Genuine babe, okay,” he said, sounding more interested than Jane usually was about these things.

“She’s basically pretending to be the Martha Stewart of her day in her food column,” Darcy said. “Until her publisher decides she needs to cook Christmas dinner for a veteran as a publicity event. So then, bam! She’s gotta find a farmhouse and a husband and a baby on short notice to host the veteran and the publisher, like you do.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“But she can’t actually cook,” Darcy said. “It’s so great.” 

“I believe you,” he said. 

“Well, you ought to,” Darcy said. “It’s sort of an us-level scam, Commander.” She paused, worrying Miranda might overhear. She realized he hadn’t objected, even when she talked about them being in a fake relationship. “Where’s M--everybody?” she asked. She remembered she wasn’t supposed to know that he was shopping in Australia for her with jewelry expert Miranda, but on a regular mission meeting.

“Asleep,” he said. “Pretty much everybody but me is asleep on this plane.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. There was a pause. She decided to steer towards safer topics. “Of the two of us, you might be more the Barbara Stanwyck, really,” she added.

“What did you just say?” he said.

“Well, you look better in clothes than me,” Darcy said. “Very glam and all that. She was very elegant and well-dressed and presentable.”

“Me and my face that scares small children?” he said dryly.

“It does not,” she said, stressing the last word. “Also, I want to say she was also from New York? But don’t quote me.”

“You think I’m elegant?” he said suddenly.

“Have you seen you in a suit?” she asked playfully. It was perfectly true, Darcy thought. The man looked good in clothes. And out of clothes. Should she mention that? 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said. 

“Don’t you _oh, sweetheart_ me,” Darcy sassed. “I’m sure you have perfectly healthy self-esteem, Mr. You’ll Be Tired In The Morning.” She did air quotes from her spot on the couch.

“Were you?” Brock said, voice going low.

“Listen to you!” Darcy said. “All proud of yourself for sexing me half to death.”

“Only half?” he teased.

“It took me a whole day to recover, I felt like I’d been to spin class,” Darcy complained. She got an actual laugh out of that one. Then she reminded him that he’d broken the zipper on her red dress. “I had to do the walk of shame out of the hotel in your gym clothes,” she said. “It was super obvious.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said. He sounded pleased, she thought. They stayed on the phone talking about their plans for when he got back for awhile, until Darcy realized he probably needed to get up and walk around. He seemed to find it funny that she was worried he’d get deep vein thrombosis.

* * *

It took her three attempts to get patched through into his lab and get his attention over the sounds of Bon Jovi’s Christmas song. “Tony!” Darcy yelled. “Tony! Turn down John Bon Jovi!” He turned abruptly and removed his welding mask, smiling. She was glad he was awake; it was late after her call with Brock.

“Hey, Itty Bitty,” he said. “Sorry. Did you hear Bon Jovi covered Elvis? Exciting news for you Elvis fanatics.”

“Yes,” Darcy said. The musician had released a cover of Elvis’s “If I Get Home on Christmas Day,” a genuine tearjerker of a Christmas song. “You know I love that song,” she told Tony, grinning. She liked the really sad Vietnam era ones best, like the wistful “Holly Leaves and Christmas Trees,” penned by an actual member of Elvis’ Memphis Mafia. 

“Hey, here’s an idea. Come up and spend Christmas with me and Pep. Rhodey’ll be there. You love Rhodey,” he said, leaning into the screen. “You can’t spend Christmas alone in a city full of politicians. It’s like spending the holidays in a hotel lobby.”

“Well,” Darcy said, worrying her lip. She was nervous. “Did Jane tell you anything about me meeting somebody?” she asked. Tony tilted his head thoughtfully and scratched at his hair.

“No---wait, did you get engaged to a SHIELD guy? I’m sure Pep is sending a gift, but I want to register my objections,” he said warmly. “They’re jackbooted, bureaucratic, terrible---”

“Tony, stop that,” a voice said. Darcy recognized Pepper’s voice.

“Tell her I said hi!” Darcy said. 

“Hello, Darcy,” Pepper said, stepping into frame. Darcy waved happily.

“Hi, Pepper!” she said.

“You behave,” Pepper said to Tony, giving him a stern look. He grinned back. 

“I’m behaving, I’m behaving,” he said. “I’m just trying to prevent our wonderful friend from making a terrible life choice--”

“About that,” Darcy said. “I need your help.”

“My help?” Tony said. “Of course you do. Everybody needs my help.” Pepper rolled her eyes. “What?” Tony said. “I’m Iron Man. It’s factual--”

“Ahem,” Darcy said. “Actually, I need your help as classy rich people?” She pulled a face. “Rumor has it that my new guy is bringing back a _very_ fancy present from Australia--”

“What kind of present?” Pepper said.

“There are no fancy presents in Australia,” Tony said at the same time. 

“It’s, uh--” Darcy began.

“Is it a kaola? I can grease some wheels with USDA for you, if you want,” Tony said. He looked at Pepper. “Remember when you worked out that paperwork over the tiger cub, so I didn’t go to jail?”

“Tony, I have endeavored very much to forget that phase of your life,” Pepper said. Darcy laughed. 

“What happened to the tiger?” she asked.

“He lives in a very ecologically appropriate animal refuge,” Pepper said.

“They wouldn’t let me keep him,” Tony said. “I can only have alpacas and llamas now. Upstate.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, unable to stop grinning. “Why did I call again?”

“You wanted me to be the guy who does the objection part during your wedding?” Tony said, reaching for his cup of coffee. 

“No,” Darcy said. She took a deep breath, trying not to giggle. “And I’m in no rush to get married. But I hear that he’s bringing me back a very expensive pair of diamond and pearl earrings--they’re by Autore, Pepper,” Darcy said, directing her inquiry at the person who seemed likeliest to know. Pepper immediately reached for her phone. “The Stardust Galaxy somethings?” Darcy said. That was the name her image search with Ellis’s photo had revealed. 

“These are very nice,” Pepper said. Tony peered over her shoulder curiously.

“Yep,” he said. “Very swanky. So, this guy isn’t a total scrub?” At Pepper’s incredulous look, he pretended innocence. “It was a popular song, Pep. Ask anybody. Hey, remember when Rhodey and I did that Destiny’s Child song at karaoke?”

“Tony, please,” Pepper said. “Stop. Don’t say the words.”

“No,” Darcy said, laughing. “It’s okay. I’d love to see you and Rhodey cover “Say My Name,” but I need a nice present for Brock.”

“Brock?” Tony said.

“His name is Brock Rumlow,” Darcy said.

“Ohhhhh,” Tony said. “Really?” He looked positively gleeful.

“Oh dear God,” Pepper muttered, crossing her arms. 

“No, I know this guy! I met him in New York. He took the whatchamacallit back to wherever,” Tony said. “Big arms, hair that does a swoosh.” Tony gestured to his forehead. He looked at Pepper. “He’s the leader of their SWAT thing,” Tony said.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “And I need you to give me advice about what would be a really nice fancy person Christmas gift for him. Cufflinks? A watch? Whatever. Help me, oh classiest couple that I know!” She mimed bowing down in front of the phone. “I need advice!”

“We will definitely help you,” Pepper said, smiling. “This is lovely news.” Darcy knew she liked recommending fancy things to people. She and Jane had once consulted her on the right gift for Queen Frigga. Now Pepper looked delighted. “What’s your budget?” Pepper asked.

“Well,” Darcy said, inhaling. “I’m not sure. Can--can we do something for under two-fifty? Three hundred? Something nice, though.” She was going to put his gift on a credit card. The very idea made her nervous, but he _had_ wiped out her student loans. Also, she could portal Jane and Thor gifts of food for Christmas and they would be perfectly happy. Or a book for Jane. And she’d already sent her mother a bottle of her favorite Philosophy perfume. It was inexpensive and smelled like nice soap. So, really, she was ahead on presents, Darcy thought. She would just think of this as one of her now-absent student loan payments.

“Of course,” Pepper said. She swiped on her phone. “Why don’t we start with Tiffany’s? There are probably some options in silver?”

“Okay,” Darcy said, heart thudding.

“Under two fifty, you could go with--” Pepper was saying.

“His name is like Rock Hudson, though,” Tony said. He pronounced it again. “Brock Rumlow.” 

“They have a key ring for two-fifty?” Pepper said, sounding mildly disappointed.

“A key ring?” Darcy said, unable to hide her own disappointment.

“What about bar stuff?” Tony asked.

“Bar stuff?” Pepper said, eyebrows going up.

“You know--shaker, flask, useful things. Very practical, yet masculine?” Tony offered. He looked at Darcy. 

“Um, he is trying not to drink,” she said slowly.

“So, no bar stuff,” Tony said. 

“I think not,” Pepper said.

* * *

Darcy was already anxious when she went into the jewelry store. Pepper had suggested trying smaller local stores in DC for something nice, like a pair of cufflinks. And Brock would be back from Australia at any time. She felt like she was on a deadline. There were shoppers peering at cases. Darcy walked up to the counter. “How can we help you?” the sales associate asked. She seemed harried.

“Um, I’m looking for men’s cufflinks and jewelry,” Darcy said. “Can you just point me in that direction?” She led Darcy to a case. The cufflinks in the estate case were all chunky and terrible-looking. She sighed. The salesperson seemed impatient. Darcy looked down, scanning the cases. “What about chains?” she said, feeling desperate. He might wear that, right? She thought maybe she’d seen a chain in Brock’s hotel room. The salesperson brought out a tray. “How much is that one?” Darcy asked, choosing one labeled figaro. 

“Four hundred and seventy five,” the salesperson said. Darcy suppressed a wince at the price. “It’s fourteen karat gold,” she said. “And currently on sale.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, taking a deep breath. She checked the clock on her phone. After the card had gone through--Darcy was fully expecting her bank to call to confirm it was her and not an identity thief--she waited while they got her a box.

“Do you want us to wrap it?” the saleswoman asked. The store wrapped everything in red and gold, she realized. 

“Um, no,” Darcy said. She thought she had wrapping paper with puppies or something fun on it. “Just the box, please,” she said politely. She carried the bag out carefully, got in the car, and drove home. Christmas carols were playing on the radio. She couldn’t believe what she was doing. What if he didn’t even like her? This was weirdly stressful. “I’ll call Jane,” she told herself. “Get a second opinion.”

“Oh my God, you bought him a Mister T starter kit!” Jane said, howling with laughter. Darcy had held up the chain in its jewelry box. She’d needed to tell someone. And she was afraid Pepper would disapprove of her choice. Darcy knew she would be able to tell if Pepper thought she’d made a misstep. She was fairly sure she had made a misstep. The more she looked at the necklace, the more strange it looked to her eyes. Gaudy. Tacky. Horrible. 

“Shut up,” Darcy said. “This is not being supportive--”

“Sorry, sorry!” Jane said. She was hiding in the _Milano’s_ closet again, trying to make notes.

“I’ve just never seen you buy jewelry for a man before,” the scientist said.

“Well, it’s really hard okay?” Darcy said. “All the cufflinks looked like Rudy Giuliani’s pinky ring.” She shuddered.

“Ew,” Jane said.

“I wish I was kidding,” Darcy said. “God, I hope he likes it. I spent way too much money.”

“How much?” Jane said. 

“I--I plead the fifth,” Darcy said. Jane would freak the hell out, she thought. Jane was kind of cheap, when it came to things she thought were nonessential. “But you’re getting cake or brownies for Christmas,” Darcy told her.

“That’s fine,” Jane said. “You know how I feel about gifts, I like practical things. And food.” She looked up from her book suddenly. “Don’t tell me you spent two hundred dollars or something!”

“I did not spend two hundred,” Darcy said, inhaling slowly. That was true, right?

“I hope not,” Jane said. “When’s he going to be back?”

“Today,” Darcy said, looking at the clock on the microwave for possibly the twentieth time. “My hair and makeup look okay, right?” She’d redone her makeup in anticipation of him calling and wanting to see her. It wasn’t her usual look. She’d done a nude lip and dark shadow, inspired by a gif of Monica Bellucci she’d seen online. 

“You look amazing, what’s going on with you?” Jane said, rubbing her nose. Her fingers left a smudge of blue ink across the bridge. Normally, Darcy would have been able to laugh.

“I don’t know!” Darcy said. “We had a good phone call, I kinda went crazy afterwards.”

“You’re freaking out about those earrings, aren’t you?” Jane said.

“God, yes,” Darcy said. “I’m terrified, but also weirdly excited. Nobody’s given me anything like this before. It’s kinda scary.”

“I thought you didn’t want them?” Jane said.

“I don’t, but I kind of want to look at them, just once,” Darcy said. 

“Uh-huh,” Jane said. “You want them!”

“No,” Darcy said, shaking her head. “Not really. Maybe try them on, just to see what they’d look like. In person and everything. Just once.”

“Sure, Darce,” Jane said. Jane was still teasing her when Brock called. She’d already wrapped his present in cheery paper.

* * *

“Hello,” Darcy said, aiming to sound warm and happy and not anxious and sweaty.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m back at my place--”

“What?” Darcy asked, startled. “You don’t need someone to, uh--?” Too late, she realized that _pick you up from the airport_ wouldn’t work if she was supposed to think he was back from a mission. “Take you to dinner?” she decided aloud.

“I’d love that,” Brock said, “but I’m exhausted, honey.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed.

“You’re upset,” he said. 

“No, no,” she said, trying to sound bright. “I just wanted to see you. But you’ve been working, so I understand--”

“What if I come crash at your place?” he said. “I’m not gonna be any fun, but, uh, we could order in--”

“I’d love that,” she said. “Are you safe to drive, though? What if I come get you?”

“You don’t need to do that,” he said. “I’ll be over in fifteen, okay?”

“Okay,” Darcy said. She spritzed on some _Obsession_ and hurried to change her clothes into something nicer: the Roland Mouret Ardon dress that Nat had picked out. Darcy stopped to scrutinize her reflection. The black dress had long sleeves, but the scoop neckline was almost indecently low. She looked very glam, in a boobs everywhere kind of way. It would be amazing with those earrings, she thought. She’d been reserving it for dinner with Jack and Roger, but the earrings were too perfect to miss out on with this dress. She just needed not to sweat in it, Darcy thought, sitting on the couch. She stared at the tree, put a fireplace scene on the TV, and waited. But her brain was imagining those earrings. “I need to do something,” she said out loud to the empty apartment. She put on a favorite holiday album, Pink Martini’s _Joy to the World,_ and tried to calm her jangly nerves by singing along. It seemed like it took him forever to get there. She couldn’t even enjoy the music. She would give him his present first, she thought, and then she would be less nervous. Then the doorbell rang. “Be right there!” Darcy called. 

He was standing on her threshold, looking tired but also ridiculously handsome. “Jesus,” Brock said, scars twisting as his eyebrows went up. “You, uh--” he said, licking his lips.

“What?” Darcy said, laughing. She knew she looked good.

“You look wonderful,” he said in a low voice.

“Thank you,” she said, standing on her tip toes to kiss him lightly. “Come inside, it’s cold.” He was looking at her strangely, she thought. Was it jetlag? She tugged at his elbow and he laughed. He took his coat off. “Sit down. I’ll get you a drink?” she offered, once he’d sat down. She turned, but he grabbed her hand.

“No,” Brock said, rubbing his thumb over her engagement ring. “Sit with me.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. He was giving her a smoldering look. “You look very good tonight,” she said, feeling oddly shy under the influence of that look. He snorted. 

“I’m glad I showered,” Brock said dryly, coaxing her into his lap. “I didn’t expect this kind of reception. C’mere.”

“No breaking this dress,” she told him, grinning.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, kissing her slowly. She felt like she could literally break from the intensity of her emotions: her heart was racing, his lips were warm, and she was stupidly excited. He was so good at this and it was Christmas and she felt utterly spoiled, making out with him next to a twinkling Christmas tree. “You smell good,” he said, when they broke apart a few moments later. Darcy was breathless. She laughed a little against his neck.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Wait--wait--”

“What?” Brock said.

“I know it’s early, but I want you to open your present,” she told him. “I got you something.” She gestured to the package on the coffee table.

“For me?” he said, grinning. “I got you something, too.”

“Really?” Darcy said. “Am I going to like it?”

“I’m pretty sure you will,” he said, looking sheepish. “It’s in my coat. Lemme get it.” He slid her off his lap with a playful cheek kiss and got something rectangular out of his coat pocket. That was probably a really nice jewelry box, Darcy thought. She was thrilled. He sat down next to her, turning the present over in his hands. He looked nervous, too, she thought. He sat it down carefully next to her knee.

“Okay,” Darcy said, reaching for his present. She was so nervous, she felt like her hands were shaking. “You go first then,” Darcy said. She wanted to watch him open his present. He took it, smiling, and started ripping open the paper. He was smiling---until he realized where it was from, she thought, as he opened the box. His face fell a fraction and her heart sank. Did he not like jewelry? 

“This is really nice, sweetheart,” Brock said. He smiled at her. Then his eyes drifted down. “It’s too nice,” he said, looking almost guilty. He hated it, she thought. 

“If you don’t wear jewelry,” she began anxiously.

“No, no,” he said. “I love it. It’s great.” He gave her an unreadable look. Everything was still oddly stressful, she thought.

“Let me open mine,” Darcy said, trying to break the tension in the room. She tore at the package eagerly, imagining that there would be the velvet or leather of a nice box underneath. Instead, there was a familiar illustration of a flapper. “Oh,” Darcy said. “Phryne Fisher.” It was a Kerry Greenwood book. “I love Phryne Fisher,” she said, trying to sound as bright as she’d been a moment before. She felt stunned. 

“I know,” Brock said. “It’s her newest one. I got it overseas. They aren’t releasing it here until next summer.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. She looked up. “Brock, that’s so wonderful. I get to read it so much sooner.”

“I was thinking that,” he said quietly. “You’d be the first person in this country to read it.”

“Me and maybe two literary agents,” Darcy said, smiling. “I love it,” she told him. He smiled back at her, but something still seemed off. Was he unhappy with his gift, she wondered?

“You mind helping me with my Christmas present?” he asked, pretending to be awkward with the clasp. Darcy laughed. The sound seemed jagged, even to her ears.

“Of course,” she said, helping him secure it around his neck. She started talking as she turned the clasp to the correct spot. “I was a little nervous about picking something out for you,” she confessed, smoothing out the links against his skin. When she met his eyes, he was looking at her intensely.

“You did great,” he said. “C’mere.” He pulled her into his lap, a little more roughly this time, and started to kiss her. There was less happiness and more urgency in his movements now. He surprised her when he carried her to the bedroom abruptly. “Lemme be more careful this time,” Brock said, when he unzipped her dress. “Don’t wanna wreck anything else.”

“No,” Darcy said, trying to sound like it was all funny. “I was planning this as my dinner dress to impress Jack and Roger, too,” she told him. “Tonight was my practice run. It’s impressive, right?” He looked at her, tilting his chin down.

“I’m sure they’ll be impressed,” he said ambiguously.

“Okay,” Darcy said, trying to get out of the sleeves carefully. He stood behind her and planted a kiss on the top of her head. She sighed as he kissed her hair another time. He was very slow and almost hesitant afterwards, like he wanted to be careful with her. Careful like she was going to break. It didn't help her weird sense of teariness.

Lying in bed that night, she couldn’t sleep. Brock was snoring next to her. Why did he not seem happy, she thought? She knew why she felt a little letdown. But what was bothering him?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Thanks to Rumsaboteur for telling me about Argyle's pink and chocolate diamonds! I loved them. I don't usually like the LeVian chocolate ones, but the way Argyle sets chocolate diamonds with white ones is actually much prettier, Miranda's objections about drill bits aside. I almost gave Darcy this bracelet, before plot got in the way of fun gifts: https://www.argylejewellers.com.au/shop/18ct-white-rose-gold-chocolate-diamond-bliss-bracelet/ 
> 
> The Mini Oval Argyle Pink Diamond necklace is the one he's looking at: https://calleija.com/mini-oval-argyle-pink-diamond-pendant/
> 
> The Roland Mouret dress was on Suits and it is stunning--it really would look great with those earrings: https://www.shopyourtv.com/suits-season-9-episode-2-donnas-black-long-sleeve-dress/
> 
> Death in Daylesford is the new Phryne Fisher book; alas, it won't be out in the US until June: https://www.allenandunwin.com/browse/books/fiction/Death-in-Daylesford-Kerry-Greenwood-9781743310342


	10. Like Really, Really Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy woke up facing Brock. She had somehow moved onto his pillow. Their noses practically touched, she realized. Worse, he was awake. Those gorgeous brown eyes watched her, blinking slowly. She opened her mouth to say something—but he made a face at her first, curling his lips in a cartoon sneer. “Hey!” Darcy said, feeling offended and naked all at once.

“Yeah?” Brock said, grinning.

“Rude!” she told him. He made another face at her, this time a pouty one. In revenge, she mussed his hair. He groaned.

“I’m just teasing you, why you gotta wreck my hair?” he said.

“Not the hair, Lewis! Not the hair!” Darcy said back, in an exaggerated version of his accent. She was laughing at his offended expression when he seized her and began tickling. “Ahhh!” she screamed, thrashing helplessly. He was too strong to get away from. “Ahhh! Stop, stop!” Darcy begged. She was pinned under him. He stopped, but settled his weight on top of her and began kissing her face and neck as she caught her breath. She was still breathing heavily as he reached for the condom. Her eyes followed the movement of his hand. Darcy felt transfixed. He held it up for a second and looked at her.

“You wanna?” he asked. She nodded. He could move fluidly when he felt like it. A few seconds later, she was being rocked by the motion of his hips, trying not to reveal how much she liked it. The chain around his neck swung slightly, brushing against her skin.

“Uhhhh,” Darcy moaned, giving into the sensation and wishing she wasn’t so easy to please. She ought to be more upset with him over the book or his snarkiness, she thought, squirming and arching her back. But she couldn’t find her anger. He chuckled. “What?” Darcy said, opening her eyes. He wasn’t even all that agitated, just taking his time. 

“You make the cutest little sex faces,” he murmured. 

“Oh,” Darcy said, wondering if she should be offended.

“Uh-huh,” he said. She closed her eyes again.

* * *

She got up with him when he needed to leave for the gym, wrapping herself in her bathrobe. As he was putting his shirt on, she frowned. “What?” Brock said.

“You really like the necklace, right?” she asked. “Because if it’s not you, I can return--”

“No,” he said, as they walked out to the kitchen. “I fucking love it, okay?” He pulled her in closer and kissed her again, pressing her against the edge of the kitchen counter. When she realized he was grinning against her mouth, she shook him off and filled one of her reusable pods with coffee. She got out a mug and he squeezed her from behind.

“You’re laughing at me,” Darcy grumbled, stabbing the brewing button with emphasis. She needed coffee. The machine heated up with a low purr. 

“Nah,” he said, chin pressing against her hair. “I just wanna know how you knew I had an inner guido?”

“A what?” Darcy said, looking up at him as the coffee sputtered. 

“Guido,” he said, frowning. “You don’t know guido?” She shook her head and he laughed. “It just means a flashy Italian, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” _It’s too flashy,_ she fretted internally. _I picked wrong._ She avoided looking at him as she got the half and half. He trailed her around the kitchen.

“But if I stop waxing, it’ll be your fault,” he said, kissing the side of her face. “Go all natural.” His voice was wry. Darcy frowned. She hadn’t really thought about his chest hair maintenance, but his scarred skin was bare. _Didn’t it hurt?_ She’d had her eyebrows professionally waxed once-- not realizing that borrowing her friend’s prescription acne cream a few times counted as using a retinol--and ended up with painful blood blisters under her brows. What was it like for his skin? 

“Why shouldn’t you stop?” she said, actually making eye contact. “Waxing’s ridiculous.” He laughed. “I’m serious,” she insisted. “I wouldn’t mind if you had chest hair. You’ve seen me naked, you know I don’t wax.” She shaved under her arms and her legs and just used a trimmer along her bikini line. She wasn’t letting hot wax anywhere near her ladybusiness, she thought, remembering the blood blisters with a tiny shudder. He smirked then. 

“I know,” he said, looking smug. “I like that about you. It goes with your whole retro thing, that you’ve still got a rug to go with the curtains.”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, feeling her sympathy evaporate. “Go to the gym.” She moved out to the living room with a huff and sat down her mug with a _thunk_. Her Greenwood book was sitting on the coffee table, surrounded by shreds of wrapping paper. 

“C’mon, I was kidding,” he said. She gave him an arch look. He scrunched his nose and made a face at her. Darcy suspected it was his ‘I’m trying to be cute’ face. “I said I like it. I do like it,” Brock insisted. He came over and hugged her. She kept her arms at her sides until he started kissing her. 

“Damn it,” Darcy murmured, melting a little. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You like me,” he said. “You actually fucking like me.” He sounded delighted.

“Shut up, Sally Field,” she told him, earning a burst of laughter and more kisses. 

Darcy was gathering up pieces of wrapping paper as he made a cup of coffee and sighed. “What is it?” Brock said, leaning around to the kitchen doorway to look at her. _Shit,_ Darcy thought. She didn’t mean to be so loud. 

“I just always think throwing away the little pieces of wrapping paper is sad,” she said. She’d been looking at her book and wondering if she should’ve bought him a more comparable gift. Obviously, he’d decided against those earrings. Why, though? It nagged at her. What had made him change his mind?

“Yeah?” Brock said. She realized he was looking at her and frowning. “The wrapping paper?” His expression was incredulous.

“Clean up means Christmas is over,” she said. “No more fun.”

“It’s December fifteenth,” he said, as if she was being bizarre. 

“Well, yeah, but you know what I mean,” Darcy told him. “Stuff ends.” Her mind had a terrible way of dwelling on bad ideas sometimes. _Miranda was happy with Ellis,_ Darcy thought. _She--they wouldn’t have gotten back together on this trip? Even if he hadn’t meant to see her last night? Or was it possible that they might be reconci--_

“What’s going on with you?” Brock said. 

“Nothing,” she lied. She walked him to the door when he was ready to leave. He kissed her again, this time with a smirk. “Shut up,” Darcy said.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said.

“You thought things,” Darcy insisted. “I’m going to look up guido now to tease you.”

“Yeah?” Brock said. “That’s fucking great.” He gave her a loud, purposefully obnoxious kiss.

“Ugh!” Darcy said. “Go to the gym!” He stepped out of the apartment and she shut the door quickly. She could hear him laughing on the other side. 

Darcy stood against the door for a minute, then opened it again. She was going to yell something obnoxious at him--Brock was crossing the parking lot towards his car, already on his phone. That was when his voice drifted up to Darcy. “I think I fucked up on the trip,” he was saying. Darcy froze and pulled her door mostly shut to listen. She heard him unlock his car and open the door. “Yeah, yeah, I know, Miranda,” he said. “I’ve heard this lecture before.” The door slammed as he shut it. 

“Oh, no,” she whispered to herself. _What did he mean?_

* * *

“I shoulda got her something nicer,” Brock told Miranda over the phone. “She bought me a nice chain.” He was driving into work.

“A chain?” Miranda said, sounding dubious.

“It’s a gold chain, don’t do that voice,” he said. Someone cut him off in traffic. “Try using your turn signal, asshole!” he yelled.

“Yeah, you sound like a guy who wears chains,” Miranda said. He snorted.

“The fucking point is, she spent money,” Brock said. “And she doesn’t have a lot of money, so I need to get her something else. I can tell she was a little disappointed, but she tried to hide it--”

“But she didn’t say she was disappointed?” Miranda said. 

“No,” Brock said.

“Maybe you should ask her,” she told him.

“Look, she’s not like you,” Brock said.

“There’s no reason to say it like that,” Miranda snapped.

“One,” Brock said, ignoring her. “She would lie and pretend the book was enough. Two, she actually likes me.”

“Maybe she’s _lying,”_ Miranda said.

“Smartass,” he said, amused. They were debating what to do when Miranda was interrupted. Brock could hear voices on the line. 

“I’m talking to Brock about Darcy’s present,” she said. “He didn’t get those--what do you mean?” Her voice was horrified. “Please tell me you’re kidding, Chris?”

“What is it?” Brock said. 

“It’s--shit,” Miranda said. “Meet me in the parking deck at work, okay?”

“What the fuck is going on?” Brock said.

“We need to talk,” Miranda said.

* * *

“I hate myself sometimes,” Darcy told Jane glumly when she called to recap. “Why do I have to snoop? If I didn’t know about those earrings or listen to conversations, I’d have sex and the new Miss Fisher book and be totally happy.”

“Yeah,” Jane said. 

“I mean, I’d be ecstatic with a brand new book like this normally,” Darcy said. Jane nodded. She was actually being sympathetic, Darcy knew, because she wasn’t stateside to slap Brock. The scientist looked thoughtful. As if on cue, Jane spoke. 

“Do you want me to portal him to Vanaheim?”

“Nope,” Darcy said. She still felt lousy, though. “Could you invent a memory wiping machine? Like in that Jim Carrey movie?” she asked, leaning closer to the phone.

“No,” Jane said, more definitively.

“I’ve done it,” Rocket announced, appearing behind Jane. “But the side effects are something else.” He walked into the room, trailed by Groot.

“Oh,” Darcy said. She waved at Groot. He waved back.

“Beep-boop,” the tree said. 

“Hey,” Darcy said.

“Absolutely not,” Jane said.

“What’s going on?” Rocket said, hopping up on the console. “You look all mopey, Lewis. You don’t like your jewelry?”

“He didn’t get them, he got me a book,” Darcy said. “It’s a good book--”

“But it ain’t no diamonds,” Rocket said. Darcy shook her head woefully.

“And then she heard him on the phone with his ex,” Jane supplied. “Saying he messed up on the trip.”

“Sounds like he fooled around with her?” Rocket said.

“Maybe?” Darcy said.

“You’re using protection, right?” Rocket said.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Always.”

“You hear that Groot?” Rocket called. 

“Teedle oh,” Groot said, sounding more shy.

“You should always do that,” Darcy said. She looked at Rocket. “Right?” she asked, unsure of plant safer sex practices. He shrugged.

“Yes,” Jane said. She took being Groot’s role model seriously. The plant was now half-hiding his branches in embarrassment. 

“The end of a great romance,” Rocket said. He shook his head. “Too bad.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. It did feel like their little ruse was coming to an end. He’d probably come around some, she thought, and then slowly fade out after they had dinner with his mother. Unless he and Miranda reconciled before then. Her unhappiness must’ve shown on her face.

“You’ll be all right,” Rocket said. “You won’t stay single long.”

“You don’t think so?” Darcy said, feeling flattered.

“Not with that red dress you’ve got,” Rocket said. Darcy sighed.

“He broke the zipper,” she said sadly.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Jane said. 

“Yeah, sure,” Darcy lied. “Let’s test some more portal stuff?” That would be a good distraction, she thought.

“We can’t,” Jane said.

“Why?” Darcy asked.

“Quill broke the machine,” Rocket said.

“He pulled off the handle,” Jane said. “I’ll get it fixed as soon as I can weld it back together.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, disappointed. “I was going to send more cereal soon.”

“He’s such an idiot,” Jane muttered.

“Teet-teet,” Groot said.

“You know we’re not supposed to insult each other, Foster, you made the rule,” Rocket said gleefully.

“It’s not an insult if someone breaks your machinery,” Jane said bitterly.

“A serious crime,” Darcy said. 

“I’m going to get my welding kit,” Jane said. While she was gone, Darcy talked to Groot. She managed to get him to look at her for a whole minute. 

* * *

“It is not Chris’s fault,” Miranda said, when Brock pulled his car into a space next to where she was standing with Ellis.

“Yes it is,” Ellis said. “I fucked up. I fucked up _bad.”_

“What the fuck is going on?” Brock said, getting out.

“They had coffee while we were gone,” Miranda said. “It was completely innocent.”

“Me and Darcy,” Ellis said. “She’s really nice, man. Shit.”

“He--accidentally--told Darcy about the earrings,” Miranda said.

“What?” Brock said. “You fucking did what?” His voice attracted the attention of another group of agents. One of them was Jack. He walked over.

“What’s going on, mate?” he asked.

“I fucked up,” Ellis said mournfully.

“You fucking asshole,” Brock said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He grabbed his gym bag out of the car and threw it on the cement floor with a thud.

“Can we stop with the performative male drama?” Miranda said. She’d automatically stepped in front of Ellis protectively and was now glaring at Brock, arms crossed. “There’s no point in that.”

“He told Darcy about the goddamned earrings I went to Melbourne for,” Brock said to Jack, outraged. “And then I didn’t fucking get them. I got her a book instead.”

“I showed her a photo of them. She wanted to make sure she’d like them,” Ellis said, fidgeting. He looked at Miranda and then Brock. “I am so sorry. Like, so sorry. Oh man.”

“I’m sure it’ll be all right--mate?” Jack said. Brock had gone pale and stunned-looking.

“She was all dressed up last night,” he said. “That’s why she got me the fucking chain and she was all dressed up. She thought I was giving her those, so she wanted to look nice.” He crouched down, hand on his mouth. “I’m gonna throw up.” 

“Get up off the floor,” Miranda said decisively. “You’re not going to throw up. You need to talk to her.”

“I gotta get those fucking earrings,” Brock said, looking up. “I’ll just tell her they got delayed in customs or something.”

“Brock,” Miranda said. “I thought you said they weren’t right for her, remember? Try and be calm.”

“She called to see when I was home. She was excited about ‘em,” he said, still crouched on the floor of the parking deck. “Fuck,” Brock drawled out.

“She did think they were pretty,” Ellis said, wincing slightly. Miranda gave him a sharp look. “What? She did,” he said.

“She must’ve been so fucking disappointed,” Brock said bitterly. 

“All right,” Miranda said, looking at Jack as if to say _help me here._ “We’ll call the store. It might take a few days, but they can express them here or something?” 

“Yeah,” Jack said, reaching down and lifting Brock by his elbow. “We’ll get it all fixed up.” He was following them onto the elevator when he thought to ask. “What sort of earrings were these?” he wondered aloud. “You can’t get ‘em locally?”

“No,” Brock said grimly. 

“They were one of a kind,” Miranda said. They went silent. 

“Uh, Tahitian pearls with a surround of diamonds and sapphires,” Ellis supplied. “With a galaxy-theme, so they looked like little planets. I’ve probably got a photo--”

“Chris,” Miranda said. Brock was glaring at him.

“What? We googled it,” Ellis said. “Oh, sorry.”

“I fucking hate you,” Brock said to Ellis, some twenty minutes later. The earrings had been sold that morning. “These fuckers won’t give me the name of the buyer,” he said, holding the phone out to Miranda. “They’re saying that information is private.”

“It is,” she said, pacing in his office. 

“I’m sorry,” Ellis repeated, for the fifth time in five minutes. “Like really, really sorry.” He looked at Jack. “This is worse than that time I got Rodriguez in the face at paintball.”

“It’s okay, we know you didn’t mean it,” Miranda said. She stopped and rubbed his hair.

“Would you stop being so fucking gooey with him?” Brock complained. She shot him a nasty glare behind Ellis’ back and mouthed _fuck you._ Brock huffed and returned to the phone. “I want to make the buyer a good offer,” he said., He repeated it more loudly. “A good offer! More money, do you understand? Don’t, no, I don’t want a different pair of earrings, I want those earrings--” he said, sighing. “Shit. They put me on hold again. “Can’t you do something, Jack? You speak the fucking language--”

“It’s bloody English,” Jack said. “You could try to be calmer.”

“Is nobody gonna fucking help me?” Brock said. He leaned into the receiver again. “Motherfucker, they hung up.” He set the phone down and covered his face with his hands. “Shit. Fuck,” he groaned, voice muffled. “What do I do now?”

“What if you get her something else equally nice?” Ellis said. “She told me she didn’t have anything fancy ‘til she met you?” he added. Jack thought he was trying to be helpful, but was worried about how Brock would respond. 

“Yeah,” Brock said. “She was broke. Okay. Okay. I gotta think of something.” He looked at Miranda. ”You got any ideas?” he said. 

“I’m looking at Diamonds in the Library,” Miranda said. “It’s a good jewelry blog.”

“Look for pearls,” Brock said. “She’s expecting that. Fuck.” He rubbed his forehead. “I was messing with her this morning,” he muttered.

“I’ll look,” Miranda said.

“Mate, we’ve got that briefing on Eastern Europe in twenty,” Jack reminded him.

“Shit,” Brock said, looking at the clock on his phone. “I missed the goddamn gym.”

“We could always go to the meeting early and look for jewelry?” Ellis offered. “Like, crowdsource it?”

“Good idea,” Jack said, trying to be positive. They trooped out of Brock’s office: Ellis looked chagrined, Miranda was glued to her phone, and Brock stared straight ahead, expression stormy. 

“What about Yoko London?” Miranda said suddenly. She held up a photo of a delicate diamond necklace studded with pearls in a range of pink shades.

“Oooh,” Ellis said, “that’s nice.”

“Can we get that?” Brock said. “That exact necklace?”

“I’ll check,” she said. Five minutes later, the verdict was negative. “Sold,” she said, as they sat in a SHIELD conference room.

“Fuck,” Brock muttered. 

“Do you want me to send you a link to their website? They do have a Tahitian black pearl necklace in the high jewelry collection,” Miranda said.

“What are you doing?” Maria Hill said, walking into the room. Ellis and Jack were peering at Ellis’ phone.

“Finding a present for Darcy,” Jack said.

“I thought you did that?” Maria said, looking at Brock. “I approved your time off.”

“I fucked up,” Ellis said. “And told her about the earrings.”

“I don’t understand,” Maria said.

“He didn’t buy the earrings,” Miranda said. “He got cold feet.”

“I didn’t---” Brock began, sighing heavily. 

“I see,” Maria said.

  
  


* * *

Darcy decided to run some errands and got several things to portal to Jane once the machine was fixed, just to have something to do. She was pushing a cart through a home improvement store when her phone rang. It was Brock. “Hi,” she said, feeling oddly happy to hear from him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “I wanted to see if you were free to have dinner with Jack and Roger on Wednesday?”

“Wednesday?” she repeated. She paused. “Sure, I’m free on Wednesday.” She was next to a bin of locks. There was a lull in the conversation.

“You, uh, don’t have to stress about this one,” Brock said. “It’ll be a nice dinner.” 

“Okay,” Darcy said. “I’m free tonight, if you’re hungry? I was thinking about pizza--”

“Uhhhh,” Brock said. “I have to do some work things tonight.”

“Oh,” she said. “That’s okay. I know you have to work sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

“Yup,” she repeated, thinking _be cool, be cool._

“I wanna see you, though,” he said.

“That’d be nice,” she said. 

“Brock, I found---oh, sorry!” a voice said on the other end of the line. Darcy realized it was Miranda. Her heart sank. _He was with Miranda._

“Well, it sounds like somebody needs you at work,” Darcy said, trying not to show she was upset. “I’ll let you go.” She practically hung up on him. Darcy had steered her cart over to the mini blinds part of the store when she got Jane on the phone. 

“What’s wrong?” Jane said.

“He was with Miranda,” Darcy said. She sniffled. She was _not_ crying. Not at all.

“But they work together,” Jane said, sounding reasonable.

“He blew off dinner with me tonight,” Darcy said. She had a horrifying thought. “What if he gave _Miranda_ the earrings, Jane?”

“He couldn’t have,” Jane said.

“He totally could have. I’m going to have to hack his bank account or something,” she whispered into the phone.

“Darce,” Jane scolded.

“I need to know,” Darcy said. “I have to know.”

“I just don’t want you to do crimes without me and Thor there,” the scientist said. “You have to promise me, no crime.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. “No crime.” A passing shopper looked at her quizzically.

* * *

“Are you drunk?” Jane asked, several hours later. Darcy was sitting at home, next to a half-eaten pizza and a glass of wine and staring at her laptop. 

“Maybe,” Darcy said. She’d called Jane again. She wanted her phone line to be busy. Brock had called once, but she had let it go to voicemail. She was a little tipsy. She might yell at him if they talked. “Let him go bury his face between Miranda’s bony legs,” she muttered to herself. 

“Oh my God,” Jane said.

“She’s definitely drunk,” Rocket said in the background. “Cover your ears, Groot.”

“Pfffhhht,” Darcy said. “He needs to hear this. He needs to know! It’s dangerous to start liking somebody while you’re pretending to be engaged to them.”

“Sure,” Rocket said. “But he’s maybe a little young, Lewis.”

“Is that your hostage negotiation voice?” Jane said, clearly trying not to laugh.

“They start you young, though. With fairytales!” Darcy said. “It’s all _someday my prince will come_ and blahblahblah. It always turns out to be just a regular dude with a cheating problem, even if he is all handsome and funny and good in bed. Ugh!”

“Put down the wine,” Jane said.

“You won’t let me do crime!” Darcy said, slightly affronted.

“Why can’t she do crime?” Rocket said. He looked at Jane incredulously.

“It’s a rule we have whenever I’m off the planet,” Jane said.

“She makes the rules,” Darcy muttered. “I need somebody who breaks rules. I can’t hack his bank, how am I going to be able to find out if he bought the earrings?”

“They’re one of a kind, right?” Rocket said. “Call the place where he bought ‘em?”

“Oh!” Darcy said. “You’re a genius.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rocket said. Jane scoffed. “What, you threatened by a little competition, Foster?”

“No,” Jane said stubbornly.

“I don’t know the store,” Darcy said. She sighed. “Wait! I know someone who will help me. I’ll call you back.”

“Dar--” Jane began, but Darcy had already ended the call.

She hit a few buttons, swore, deleted them, then dialed again. The phone rang, then he picked it up and her phone screen was filled with his nose. “Itty Bitty!” Tony said, moving back. He was clearly eating outside at a restaurant. “How’s the present hunt? We’re in Malibu---”

“Terrible,” Darcy said, starting to sniffle.

“What?” he said. “Are you crying? Why are you crying? Pep--Pepper!” He looked around frantically.

“I think he bought his ex the earrings,” Darcy said. “My earrings.” Tony looked panicked.

“Darcy, hold on. She’s in the bathroom,” he said. He raised his voice. “A little help! Tony Stark?” He waved down a waiter. The waiter came over. “Can someone get me Pepper Potts?” Tony asked. “She’s--my friend is crying.” He gestured to the phone. The waiter looked between the phone and Tony.

“Sir, this is Spirelli’s of Malibu,” the waiter said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be accused of barging into the ladies’ room. It’ll be 2001 all over again,” Tony said. “Can you just have someone go in there and tell her I’m having an emergency? She’ll know what to do.”

“I didn’t even want the earrings,” Darcy rambled. “But I don’t want her to have them, either. She already has one nice fiancé? Why does she get two?”

“Are we taking about fiancés or earrings?” Tony said, looking even more perplexed. 

“I need your help,” Darcy said. “That’s why I called.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “You need my help.”

“I need JARVIS to find me the store that had those earrings, so I can call them and ask if he bought them,” Darcy got out. “It’s somewhere in Melbourne--”

“Okay,” Tony said. He tapped the corner of his sunglasses. “JARVIS, are you getting this? Melbourne jewelry stores--”

“Yes, sir,” the AI said.

“That carry the Autore galaxy earrings,” Darcy said. “I thought he was buying them for me. One pair in the whole world. But no, he gives them to her, the on again, off again woman with the cool haircut and the fancy clothes.” 

“We’re working on it, Lewis,” Tony said, “don’t you worry, okay? He probably didn’t buy the earrings.” 

“Okay,” Darcy said. “He--he’s pretending to be at work, Tony. But I heard her voice.”

“Oh shit,” Tony said. “That’s...not good.”

“What’s going on?” Pepper said. 

“Fiancé emergency,” Tony said. “But I’m sure he didn’t buy those earrings for his ex, Itty Bitty. They’re way too expensive for an old relationship, not an on again, off again thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Pepper said icily.

“I didn’t mean you,” Tony said.

“That’s right! You’re on again, off again,” Darcy said. “And Tony really, really loves you. Just you. Not all the other women.”

“It’s not all these other women,” Tony said, looking at Pepper. “It was a few women, sure.”

“Uh-huh,” Pepper said. 

“But he really just loves you,” Darcy said. 

“Oh God,” Tony said.

“Sir?” JARVIS said.

“Yes, JARVIS. Tell me something. Anything,” Tony said nervously.

“I have located the jewelry store. Lee and Sons of Melbourne. But I’m afraid the earrings were purchased this week,” the AI said.

“Shit,” Tony said. He mouthed _this is bad_ across the table.

“What, exactly, is happening?” Pepper said.

“He didn’t give her those earrings,” Tony said. “I think?”

“He gave me a book!” Darcy said. Tony made a whistling sound, frowning.

“The staff was quite unpleasant when I called to inquire about them,” the AI added. “Refused to give me further information, despite polite inquiries.” 

“He bought them,” Darcy said. “But he didn’t give them to me. I’m not a Pepper. She’s his Pepper.”

“Oh no,” Pepper said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miranda's suggestion for a replacement gift is this stunning piece from Yoko London that was on Diamonds In The Library's tumblr. Isn't it amazing?


	11. This Is Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“I’m--I’m gonna confront him,” Darcy said. “I can’t just sit here. JARVIS, find Brock Rumlow!”

“Mr. Rumlow is currently located--” the AI began, before he was interrupted by Pepper and Tony talking over him.

“You can’t drive,” Pepper said.

“Let me come help you,” Tony said.

“No, no, I can’t wait that long,” Darcy said. “I’ll chicken out. He’ll make the face at me and I’ll chicken out.”

“The face?” Tony said quizzically.

“It’s like this,” Darcy said, pouting her lips into the phone camera. 

“Duckface?” Pepper said.

“Yes. It’s stupid, but it’s also cute,” Darcy said, rubbing her forehead. Pepper looked baffled. “I know, I don’t understand, either. I think it’s all the muscles,” she told them, sighing. 

“He does duckface?” Tony said. 

“Hot duckface,” Darcy said. “I’m going.” She stood up.

“Don’t drive!” they both said at the same time.

“I have an Uber,” Darcy said. “JARVIS, please text me the address, please and thank you.” She swayed a little on her feet.

“I’m going to send someone,” Tony said. As Darcy tucked her phone into her purse without ending the call, Pepper frowned.

“Is she wearing bedroom slippers and plaid pajama bottoms?” she asked Tony.

“Yes,” he said. “I think she is.”

“This is bad,” Pepper’s voice said from inside the purse.

“Shhhh! I gotta lock the door. Kevin is here!” Darcy yelled, struggling with her keys. “Shit. I dropped them.”

“I am sending a suit!” Tony yelled from inside the bag. “Can she hear me? She’s so drunk.”

“This is what taking care of you was like, I hope you know,” Pepper said. Her voice was still audible. Darcy started to giggle and almost fell down. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” Darcy said. “But I love you!”

“See, this is better. Huggy drunk is better than sad drunk or angry drunk,” Tony said, as Darcy got her door locked and met the guy with the Uber.

“Hello,” she said, opening the car door.

“Uh, hi,” he said. “Are you Darcy?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, getting into the car. She shut the door with a clank. “Whoops, sorry. Jarvis, where are we going?” Darcy asked, getting out her phone.

“My name is Kevin,” the driver said. “And you kinda need to know that.”

* * *

Brock was leaving the building with Ellis and Miranda when someone yelled his name. He looked up in surprise. Darcy was clamoring awkwardly out of a car. She had on bedroom slippers, pajama pants, and some sort of holiday sweater. “Darcy?” he said, startled.

“You asshole!” Darcy yelled. 

“What?” Brock said. Abruptly, she ran at him, slippers slapping on the sidewalk.

“I am so mad at you!” she yelled. She waved her hands at him. “Running around behind my back! Giving her my earrings!” Darcy said, smacking at him. Only she wasn’t quite close enough and wobbled dangerously. She hit like one of those inflatable tube guys outside car dealerships, Brock realized. All windmilling limbs and air.

“What are you--hey!” Brock said. He caught her. That was when she must’ve seen Miranda and Ellis.

“You!” Darcy said, pointing at Miranda. “I heard you!”

“Hi, Darcy,” Ellis said, waving awkwardly.

“Hello,” Darcy said. “I have”--she hiccuped-- “some very distressing news, Chris. Very distressing.”

“Are you drunk?” Brock said.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “However, that is not important right now.” She tried to stand up straight and listed a little. Brock pulled her closer, frowning. “Don’t you sexy duckface me!” Darcy said, jabbing him with her finger. He grinned down at her.

“Sexy duckface?” Ellis said.

“It’s a thing he does,” Miranda said, rolling her eyes. “And it’s not sexy.”

“You shut up, both--both of you,” Darcy said. “You duckfacing, fancy cheaters!”

“What?” Brock said. She thought he was cheating?

“Uh, could someone pay me?” the Uber driver asked, standing up outside the car.

“I gotta pay Kevin,” Darcy said, trying to turn around. “Hey!” she said. Brock had tightened his grip so she didn’t fall down. 

“You can’t stand up,” Brock told her.

“My slippers are slippery,” Darcy said. “I didn’t know they were like this on sidewalk--sidewalk stuff.”

“Concrete?” Brock said.

“Yes, that,” Darcy said.

“I’ll pay Kevin,” Miranda said.

“Don’t you pay him with my earrings,” Darcy said pointing. She turned to glare at Miranda’s back. “Cheater!” she yelled.

“What?” Brock said. Then she looked back at Brock. 

“I wanted ‘em--and you didn’t give ‘em to me--” she began, clearly frustrated. She pointed at Ellis. “He told me you were.” She was blinking now. _Was she crying?_ he thought in horror.

“It’s totally my bad,” Ellis said, holding his hands up. Brock ignored him.

“Honey, I know,” Brock said. “Look at me. Look at me, okay? Don’t cry.” 

“Why?” Darcy asked, eyes welling up. “I like you and you’re going back to her?”

“No,” Brock said, “I’m not.”

“You bought them,” Darcy repeated. Brock shook his head.

“I didn’t buy--” he said, when there was a loud, metallic thunk behind them. A bulky metal figure had landed a few feet away.

“Holy shit, is that an Iron Man suit?” Ellis said. Darcy looked. 

“Hi, Tony,” Darcy said.

“Does she know Tony Stark?” Ellis said.

“I know lots of people,” Darcy said. “And they all think you’re terrible. Terrible cheater.” She waggled her finger at Brock, then turned. “Tony! Come punch him.”

“Oh shit,” Ellis said, as the suit started to move. “This is not good. Do we need to run?” 

“No,” Brock said. The suit moved forward. _Clunk--clunk--clunk._ Then the face mask opened with a whir.

“Yeah, we’re not doing that, Itty Bitty,” Tony Stark’s voice said. He was being patched in. 

“You’re not even here?” Darcy said.

“You told me to stay in Malibu!” he said. “Also, I had kind of a romantic evening planned, so if we could resolve this earring thing?”

“Whoa,” Ellis said. “That’s a Tony Stark robot. Tony Stark is talking through a robot.” He sounded awestruck.

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. 

“Can I have your autograph?” Ellis said. “I mean, I’m a huge fan. The suits, the cars, it’s all really cool.”

“Finally, someone who appreciates me,” Tony’s voice said.

“Can I just talk to my fiancée alone?” Brock cut in, irritated.

“No,” Darcy said. “Me--I talk first! I’m not your fiancée anymore!” She poked him in the chest again. “So there!” Brock waited for the panic. This was the worst. He’d been afraid of this scenario. But now that it was happening, he felt strangely calm and prepared. Like his first firefight. 

“Uh-oh,” the Tony robot said.

“Yeah,” Ellis echoed.

“Darcy,” Brock began, trying to make sense of everything. She was drunk. And upset. He needed to stay calm. “Let’s--” he began, but she cut him off.

“I’m not gonna be with men who wanna give the good earrings to snooty bitches anymore, okay? I’m not doing that again!” Darcy said. “I been through that with Ian.”

“Whoa--whoa,” Ellis said. Miranda, walking back to the group, had overheard. Her face went all tense. “Honey,” Ellis said to her. “I’m sure she didn’t mean that. And she should apologize when she’s sober?” he bargained, shifting to Darcy. Darcy made a face.

“She called me vain and dumb!” Darcy said. Miranda made another face.

“I sorta did,” she admitted.

“Randy,” Ellis said, voice sad and disappointed. “Why would you say that?” Miranda looked trapped for a moment.

“I didn’t mean it, not really,” Miranda said stiffly.

“Randy!” Darcy said, giggling. “I can’t believe you call her Randy!” Brock sighed. 

“Look, sweetheart,” he said to Darcy.

“Randy!” she repeated.

“Itty Bitty, I think we need to focus here,” Tony said. 

“Okay, okay,” Darcy said. She waved her arms. “I gotta say something.”

“Joe Pesci?” Ellis asked. 

“Yes! You are so nice,” Darcy said to Ellis. She looked at Brock. “How can you do this to him? And me?” She looked at Miranda. “You, too!” Brock physically turned her to face him.

“I’m not doing anything,” Brock said. “If you’d just fucking let me explain.” He felt frustrated.

“Well, then, explain!” Darcy said. She tried to gesture and almost fell over. He held her up. She was going to speak again, but he put a finger gently over her mouth.

“I should have bought the earrings,” Brock said. “But I thought you’d be uncomfortable wearing something that expensive. So, I didn’t get them. I bought you that book, because I thought that was what you really wanted, something like that. Something you would really enjoy. And that nobody would have, but you wouldn’t be anxious about. I wanted you to have things you really wanted.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Oh.” She gazed up at him.

“Ooooh,” Tony said. “This is kinda romantic.”

“Yeah,” Ellis said. Brock was busy looking at Darcy.

“You understand?” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” she said. 

“You didn’t buy the earrings?” Tony said. “Well, then who bought them?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Brock grumbled. 

“We’ve been trying to get them, but they won’t tell us the name of the buyer,” Ellis said. 

“Oh,” Tony said. “They won’t tell me, either.”

“So, nobody has the earrings?” Darcy said. She looked at Brock with glazed eyes, then shifted to Miranda and back to him again. “She doesn’t?”

“No,” Brock said.

“I thought you’d bought them and given them to her,” Darcy whispered. He shook his head. “Oh, no,” she said, expression turning horrified. “Oh, no. I--I was wrong?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“I hit you,” she said, clearly more horrified. She looked like she could flee. “I did _bad,”_ she said. “I don’t hit people. Jane hits people.”

“No,” Brock said, feeling himself grin. “You just grazed me a little. I’m not hurt.” 

“Okay,” she said. 

“C’mere,” he said, coaxing her into a hug. She held onto him.

“I was so wrong,” Darcy whispered.

“It’s okay,” Brock told her. He cleared his throat. “All right,” Brock said, looking at Miranda and Chris. “I’m taking Darcy home with me. You guys get Iron Man’s autograph. Mr. Stark, this has been interesting.”

“It’s been really fun, Rambo,” Tony said. “Also, I’ve got it all recorded, so when Itty Bitty wakes up tomorrow, I can play her a tape.”

“Wonderful,” Brock said, picking Darcy up. 

“Ahhh,” she said, clinging to him.

“You okay?” he asked. “We’re going home now.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. Her eyes were glassy. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset about it,” Brock said. “I’ve never seen you wasted like this. It’s kind of fun. Say goodbye to our friends.”

“Bye, Tony!” she called over his shoulder. “Bye, Chris and Randy!” Darcy yelled, emphasizing the second name. Brock snorted. 

“Bye!” Ellis said. They were walking away when Tony ascended.

“Whoops,” Darcy said. “My slipper fell off.”

“I got it,” Brock said, bending down to pick up the slipper. “It’s a pug with a...horn?”

“Pug unicorn,” she said. “Pugicorn.”

“Oh, well, then,” he said dryly. “Fucking pugicorns.” He grinned to himself. 

“I like you,” Darcy said. She bobbed a little as he carried her into the parking garage. 

“I know, you think my duckface is sexy,” he said. Darcy giggled. “What is it?” he asked.

“Randy,” Darcy said. “Randy!”

  
  


* * *

“Ohhhh God,” Darcy said, opening her eyes. Her head was thudding. Was she in a nightclub? It felt like she’d left her brain in the middle of a thumping bass track on a Saturday night. She heard a sound and looked to her right. Brock was in bed with her. He passed her a bottle of water.

“I had these in the ice bucket,” he said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. She drank a third of the bottle in one go. “How did I get here?” She didn’t remember much after calling Tony and crying. They were in his hotel room.

“Mostly, I carried you,” Brock said. 

“Oh God,” she said, setting the bottle on the nightstand. She did remember: she’d yelled at him outside SHIELD, he’d told her about the book, everyone had been there. “You didn’t give Miranda the earrings,” she said slowly.

“Nope,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said. Then she reached down and crawled under the blankets.

“What are you doing?” Brock said.

“I’m embarrassed!” Darcy said. “This is why I don’t drink so much.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. “I know. Do what I do when I’m embarrassed.” She peeked out from under the covers. He was reading something on his work tablet.

“What do you do?” she whispered. God, she felt awful.

“Imagine the other people in the room naked,” Brock said dryly.

“You are naked,” Darcy said, realizing he was. She was still in her Christmas llama--“Fa-la-llama”--sweatshirt and plaid pajama bottoms, but he was completely naked. All scars and muscles. It was a pity she felt so lousy.

“Eh,” he said. “You wanted to see me naked. I did owe you a present.” His voice was wry.

“Oh, no,” Darcy said, looking up at his face. “I did drunk and mad and then drunk and handsy.” Brock smirked.

“Grabby,” he said. “You were grabby.”

“Oh, man,” Darcy whispered. She hid her face and rolled over, putting her back towards him. “This is soooo embarrassing.”

“Nah,” he said. “I’ve been naked in way more embarrassing places. And you stopped being so grabby once we had the talk about appropriate touching.”

 _Oh God,_ Darcy mouthed. She drank water without saying anything else, then got up to pee. 

“Be careful,” he said. 

“Uh-huh.” She borrowed his toothbrush; she had wine breath. When she crawled back into bed, Darcy realized it was a little after five am. “Whoa.”

“Hmm?” Brock said.

“It’s early,” she said. She stared at the ceiling. She was still too embarrassed to make eye contact.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll order you some room service before I go.”

“Okay,” Darcy said softly. She listened to him read. His tablet clicked occasionally, but he was very quiet. She breathed in and out, trying to work up her nerve. “Are we...dating?” Darcy asked. She waited for him to speak.

“I believe we’re engaged,” he said.

“Shut up,” Darcy said, seized by the urge to sass him. She didn’t know why, unless it was because he was so sexy, she assumed he was kidding a lot. She reached for the water glass as a distraction.

“You gonna talk to me like that when we’re married?” he said. She almost choked on her water.

“Yes,” Darcy said, feeling half-bold, half-stunned. She coughed a little. Was he kidding?

“Good,” he said. She set the water bottle down slowly. He tapped something; she heard the screen noises. She felt utterly confused. “Did you mean it when you said you didn’t want kids?” he asked, after a pause. “Or is that just something you say?”

“Yes, I meant it,” she said, feeling offended. “It’s not just something you say. I’ve thought about this. It’s not just that I haven’t met the right man yet or something,” she grumbled. “Why does everybody think that? I’m not even sure I want to get married all that much.” She swallowed, realizing what she’d just said. “It’s not you,” she began. “I’ve always felt like that.” He was gonna be hurt and offended, she thought, suddenly afraid that he’d be sensitive and think it had something to do with his scars. She waited for him to respond.

“Yeah. That’s fine with me,” Brock said.

“Really?” Darcy said, shocked.

“We’ll just stay engaged for, oh, a few years,” he said. He sounded calm. 

“Oh.”

“Sound good?” Brock asked. She finally dared to look at him.

“Yes?” Darcy said, then realized it was a question. “Yes.” He nodded. He was wearing a pair of tortoiseshell frames. She gaped at him. He looked even more handsome than usual. “You wear glasses?” she said, stunned. 

“I’m old. They’re reading glasses,” he said dryly. He paused. “Do you fucking hate ‘em or something?”

“Nooooooo,” she said. “Too much handsome.”

“What?” he said.

“You look so good in those, it’s really unfair,” she said. “Unfair.” He chuckled.

“Drink all your water, you’re still drunk,” Brock said.

“I am not,” Darcy said stubbornly. She rolled over to face him and tucked herself under his arm. He smiled slightly as she settled in. He clicked his screen. She pressed her mouth into his shoulder softly, enjoying the way the burns made an interesting texture against her mouth. It felt different. She sucked a little.

“Mmm,” Brock said. “That’s nice.” She was dotting his neck with kisses and gentle nibbles when he stopped her. “Darcy.”

“Yeah?” she said. “Did I hurt you?” She frowned. He snorted.

“No,” he said. “I’m gonna make up for the earring thing, okay?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I was stupid. I just got this idea that you’d bought them for _her_ and I went a little crazy.” She ducked her head down. “It’s so embarrassing. I made a fool of myself.”

“You’re jealous of Miranda?” he said, sounding surprised.

“You talk about her constantly,” Darcy muttered, feeling herself flush. God, this was uncomfortable. “You’re always comparing her to--to other people,” she said slowly. He made a sound. She realized he was actually laughing. “Hey, no laughing!” she said. He put the tablet down and cupped her face in both hands.

“In any comparison between you and her, you win,” Brock said, grinning. 

“Why?” Darcy said, genuinely wanting to know. “She’s so elegant and--and fancy--” He stilled her talking by pressing his thumb into her bottom lip. He was still smiling.

“Fuck fancy. We have more fun,” he said. “You like me, I like listening to you talk, I like”--he paused-- “certain things about you a fucking lot.”

“Is this about my boobs?” Darcy said, eyebrows going up. He laughed. 

“No, but I like those, too,” he said, eyeing her sweater. He looked wolfishly at her.“What if I’m careful?” he said. “Are you sober enough to fool around?” Darcy shook her head.

“I’m not done with this _certain things_ situation. What are the certain things?” Darcy asked. He sighed and took off his glasses. She frowned, but he didn’t notice.

“Miranda has a theory--don’t do that,” he said--Darcy had huffed loudly in irritation--“she’s not trying to make you jealous. But she thinks you have certain qualities of, uh, being feminine--”

“Being feminine?” Darcy echoed. Brock nodded.

“Feminine and nurturing,” Brock said. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. “And those appeal to you?”

“Yes,” he said. He licked his lips nervously. “But I’m not sure she’s right.”

“So, I’m not feminine?” Darcy said archly. He shook his head urgently. Darcy waited a beat. He seemed to be wrestling with something. He cycled through several expressions. She liked the one where he narrowed his eyes so his crows’ feet crinkled attractively. He took a deep breath.

“She thinks you’re, uh, you--that maybe you and my mother are a little bit alike,” Brock said. Darcy stared. “Don’t freak out, all right?” he said. She nodded slowly. He kept talking, eyes fixed on her shoulder. “But Ma likes to cook, so, uh, it’s not that unusual,” Brock said.

“A lot of people cook,” Darcy agreed, trying to lure him into comfort. 

“Yeah,” Brock said, nodding. “No big deal.” His neck relaxed. 

“Sure,” Darcy said. “I bet we don’t cook the same things.”

“Right, right,” he said. “She cooks Italian food, you like to bake cakes.” He looked reassured and was making eye contact again.

“What else does your mom have in common with me?” Darcy asked. Brock’s expression went funny again. She tilted her head. “It’s a lot, huh?” she said.

“No, no,” he said. “I mean, she’s got dark hair. Kinda big hair.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And she likes, uh, jewelry and makeup,” Brock said. “Beauty things.”

“Lots of people like those. Clothes, too, I bet,” Darcy said mildly. He pulled a face.

“She, uh, likes fur coats,” he admitted sheepishly. “She buys ‘em used, though. Don’t give her a hard time about ‘em.” That was when Darcy started to giggle. 

“Oh my God,” she said. “You realize--” 

“What?” he said. She’d stopped and closed her mouth abruptly. “What? Tell me,” he said. 

“You’re the one putting me in the fancy wardrobe, sir,” Darcy whispered. “You did it to yourself. I bought my fake fur because of you!”

“Fuck,” he said, closing his eyes. He mouthed the word silently a second time. Darcy smiled wickedly.

“Did you still want to?” she said, tracing her finger over his collarbone.

“Give me a minute. Talk about something else,” Brock said. Darcy hummed a game show theme song. “Stop that,” he grumbled. She waited a few seconds, then kissed him lightly. He entwined his fingers with hers and looked at her left hand. Darcy followed his gaze.

“Whatcha thinking about?” she asked. Her fake engagement ring glinted. Was he thinking about something serious?

“Nothing,” he said, expression unreadable. His other hand moved to the hem of her llama sweater. 

“Okay,” Darcy said, deciding to let it go. She wasn’t going to press him. It was probably something about his mother anyway. Did his mother like diamonds, Darcy wondered? She grinned at her ring and then kissed him happily. That turned into a series of slow kisses before he took the sweater off and dragged her pajama bottoms down around her knees. Brock wanted to touch her, Darcy realized. She grinned as he palmed at her boobs, expression rapt. It was fun to watch him; she felt oddly comfortable and he seemed mesmerized. They stayed entwined for awhile, kissing and touching, until he shifted her body over his.

“Stay here, since you’re hungover,” he said, cupping her waist. She nodded. He meant on top of him. They both fumbled a little. She swore, trying to get her pants all the way over her ankles. He grinned at her. 

“Shut up,” she said, pretending not to care if she kneed him in the thigh.

“Ow, mean,” he said, reaching for a condom. She half-expected him to tickle her again, but he merely smiled and coaxed her into his lap. He was being easy on her, Darcy realized, letting her set the pace. It was almost casual. They both moved slowly. The position would have been awkward with anyone else, but with him it was almost fun. Darcy kept sneaking glances at his face as she moved. Brock’s eyelids were half-shut. He looked oddly blissed out for a guy having the laziest sex ever. She had leaned down to kiss him when he gave her a smug grin. 

“What?” Darcy said, pulling back a fraction. She was slightly breathless. His thumbs massaged her thighs gently.

“You tried to smack me in the face last night,” he reminded her. “You were pissed the fuck off.” 

“Oh God,” she said, as he rolled his hips slightly. “I’m a walking embarrassment factory,” she got out, words hitching a little. He laughed.

“It was fucking great,” Brock said, grinning so widely his scars stretched. He stroked her belly. Darcy looked down at his hand, feeling oddly transfixed. It was such a soft gesture. And she was self-conscious about the roundness of her stomach. She was too short to have the perfectly flat plane that taller women seemed to get between their hips and their boobs. But now he was pressing his battered thumb into her belly button. 

“Ohhhh,” Darcy said, feeling a jolt of pleasure that surprised her.

“You like that, huh? Nerve endings,” he said. 

“Mmm-mmm,” she got out, nodding. 

“You want me to show you some other places?” he said, looking smug.

“Y-yeah,” Darcy said.

* * *

When she woke up, he’d gone to work and room service was knocking. Darcy had that pleasurably dazed post-sex feeling. “Just a sec!” she called out, reaching for a bathrobe. She saw a note on the nightstand. _Hydrate,_ it said. Darcy laughed--then remembered he hadn’t actually confirmed they were dating. She was shaking her head as she opened the door for the room service guy.

“Blueberry waffles and coffee,” the guy said. “With extra coffee.”

“Wonderful, thank you,” Darcy said. There was more of that Chantilly cream she liked, too. Darcy dug in happily. It was really good. “Mmmm,” she said out loud. She tapped out a message to Brock and sent him a selfie with Chantilly accidentally smudged on her nose and above her lip. 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** I’m alive and I’m stuffing my face. Thank you. [photo]

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** It’s rude to tease me at work like this. I’m in a meeting about world security and you’re sending me naughty selfies?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Oh em geeeeeeee, you did not.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** You. Did. Not.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I meant that innocently, you perv.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Please. You know what you do to me. 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** It’s not my fault you’re a dirty old man.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Save some of that for tonight.

She was eating when her phone dinged again. She assumed it was Brock and snatched it up to reply. “Oh God,” Darcy said, really horrified. It wasn’t Brock. Tony had sent her a video file. And copied it to Jane and Natasha. On the screen, she saw herself from behind, rambling and wasted. “The back of my head looks like that?” she wondered, marveling at how much shorter she was than everyone else. It really stood out when you were in a Tony suit, apparently. That was when she saw Brock’s expression transform from horror to something like fondness as he looked at her. Was it fondness? Or was she crazy? She called Jane. “Have you seen the video?” Darcy said immediately.

“Yes,” Jane said, clearly trying not to laugh.

“We’ve only watched it a dozen times,” Rocket chimed in. “You got him back, Lewis. Congrats.”

“Never mind that, look at Brock’s face!” Darcy said urgently. “This is important!”

“Okay,” Jane said. Peter Quill leaned into frame.

“What are we doing?” Quill asked.

“Watching Darcy drunk yell in her pajamas,” Jane said.

“No,” Darcy began, but Rocket overruled her.

“We’re all looking at Lewis’s boyfriend,” Rocket said. “You can’t let me and Foster have all the fun.”

“Bleep boop,” Groot chimed in. 

“Okay, fine,” Darcy grumbled. They got a second tablet and everyone crowded around it. Even Drax.

“Whoa,” Quill said, when Brock came into sight. “That dude looks like a mother…”

“Don’t you dare!” Darcy said.

“I think he is a very attractive man,” Drax said.

“Yeah?” Jane said. 

“Ohhh, yes,” Mantis said breathily. Gamora looked more skeptical. 

“He carries weapons?” she asked Darcy. She must’ve seen his SHIELD gun at his waist.

“Yeah. He keeps a knife in his boot, too,” Darcy said.

“What kind?” Gamora asked Darcy.

“Ummm, a big knife?” Darcy said. She got the matching one out of his weapons safe. He kept a safe in the hotel room. “This one?” She held it up.

“He gave you his safe combo?” Jane said.

“For self defense,” Darcy said. “Wait, this is it. Jane, watch his face!”

“He’s got a big knife? Heh,” Quill said.

“Be quiet,” Gamora told him. They were all studying the screen. 

“Hmmmm,” Mantis trilled.

“What do you think?” Darcy said.

“Shhhh,” several people said at once. Darcy heard herself on the other screen. She sounded _pitiful._

“This is so emb--” Darcy began.

“Shhhhhh.”


	12. No Woman of Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“So, what do you think?” Darcy asked, leaning forward eagerly. “Does he look more, um, emotional just then?” She didn’t want to name it, she wanted their honest opinions on Brock’s shifting expression.

“He looks like he likes ya,” Rocket said, shrugging.

“Indeed, it is a very fond expression,” Mantis said in her soft voice. Her antennae twitched a little. “Very sweet and kind.”

“Yeah,” Drax said, more flatly.

“You think so?” Darcy said.

“Aye,” Thor said.

“Bleep,” Groot said, nodding until his branches swayed. The group started to break up.

“Ditto,” Quill said. “Hey, Gamora, watch this--”

“No,” she said, as they walked away.

“Am I the only one interested in this?” Darcy said.

“It is your love life, kid,” Rocket said, going back to the ship’s console. In the back, Quill started playing music. Groot shimmied. “Thanks for sending him some new tunes,” Rocket said. “I was getting a little tired of that eight track.” Darcy huffed in frustration.

“I can’t believe I’m the only person who cares he was making that--that face!” Darcy said. 

“It’s not that no one cares,” Jane said, flicking through a textbook. “It’s that you’re the only one who is surprised.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. She thought about it for a second. “Really?”

“He likes you,” Jane said slowly, as if she was being particularly silly.

“You must have more confidence, Darcy,” Thor said seriously. “Why should he not care for you? You have bested me in combat.”

“She did what?” Quill called from somewhere off-screen.

“She is a most valiant and brave lady warrior,” Thor said, turning his attention to Quill. “Upon my first sojourn to Midgard, she struck me down with a powerful blow of lightning. This is how I met Jane.”

“Sh--really?” Quill said, when Rocket gave him a look for swearing in front of Groot.

“Yes,” Jane said, grinning. “She tased him.”

“I did,” Darcy said. She was still proud of that.

“When I opened my eyes, there on the ground--it was quite rocky and dusty--it was then that I beheld my Jane’s beautiful face--” Thor began. 

“Hey,” Rocket said. “Lady warrior?”

“Yes?” Darcy said, thinking he was going to say something about Brock.

“You got anymore of that cereal you sent Thor?” Rocket asked.

“Beet-beet,” Groot said excitedly.

“I can get some,” Darcy said, grinning in spite of herself. 

“Oh, can you get me some other things, too?” Jane asked, tearing herself away from Thor’s recounting of their “romantic” first meeting. Soon, Darcy had a whole list of things to portal. She’d have to get out of her comfy bathrobe and go to the store, she realized glumly. 

“Oh, man,” she said out loud.

“What?” Rocket said.

“I gotta leave this hotel in another embarrassing walk of shame outfit,” Darcy said.

“Bloop-Bloop,” Groot said sadly.

“I should have found him a place to live, like I promised,” Darcy added.

“You say that, but you’d miss room service and the robes,” Jane said.

“You know me so well,” Darcy said.

“Eh, you’re pretty predictable,” Rocket said. Jane gave him a look. “What?” he said. “She’s no woman of mystery.”

“Phffft,” Darcy said.

* * *

“How are things with Darcy, mate?” Jack asked quietly, stopping Brock after their day ended. He’d found Brock doing reports. Jack thought he seemed more stable, at least. They’d all been worried after the parking deck incident. Ellis had told him a bizarre story involving Darcy, a Tony Stark robot, and a pair of bedroom slippers. Jack knew that Miranda was compiling lists of fancy jewelry clobber for Rumlow--he’d seen an astonishing array of diamond necklaces, odd gem encrusted brooches in the shape of animals, and ropes of pearls on her laptop--but he had no idea what was actually going on. It all seemed mad to Jack. Darcy seemed like the type to be happy with something fun. Possibly the scarf he’d seen on a woman today. Not these bloody jewels you’d see on the Queen or somesuch. He repressed a shudder at the memory of a pin in the shape of a lizard with rubies dotting its forked tongue.

“They’re all right,” Brock said, grimacing. “Still haven’t found the right thing to give her, though. Fucked it all up with those fucking earrings.”

“I saw a woman in a scarf today, it had real lights on it,” Jack said, aiming for a helpful tone. “Lit up all nice. Turns out it’s rechargeable lights, mate.”

“Hmm?” Brock said. Jack realized he’d hadn’t been listening.

“Nevermind,” Jack said, sighing. 

“I’m giving it thought,” Brock said. “Has to be something special. Really fucking special.”

“Too right,” Jack said. “You do that.” Brock nodded distantly. Sometimes, Jack reflected that pretending to be American had been the easier end of things in their undercover HYDRA work; Brock had pretended to be calm and methodical to win Pierce’s trust, but once they were free, he seemed to be more reckless and impulsive. All those years of being in control, Jack reflected. He’d been wound tight and was snapping back like a tense elastic band. First, there had been the back and forth with Miranda. Now Brock was obviously infatuated with Darcy, Jack thought. But he wasn’t going to poke around in that topic--it might be impulsive and odd, but she was at least a normal girl. He was hoping she’d exert a stabilizing influence, settle Brock down a bit. “You shouldn’t worry too much,” Jack said, hitting on an idea that seemed plausible, “with all her people gone, she’ll probably just want somebody to spend the holidays with, mate.”

“Shit,” Brock said, expression changing, “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” He turned abruptly. “I gotta go home. It’s almost seven. Or her place,” he added. “She’s probably at her place.”

It was all Jack could do not to laugh. “We’re still on for dinner, yeah?” he called after Brock.

”This week!” Brock said back. He was actually legging it, Jack saw. He shook his head.

* * *

Darcy ran all her errands, portaled some things to Jane, and got started on her favorite cookie recipe. “I’m making your favorite holiday cookies,” she told the scientist over the phone, chopping pecans. “Also, I like the ding noise it does when we portal stuff now.”

“That was Thor’s idea, you know how he loves timers,” Jane said.

“They are marvelous,” Thor said, sitting down behind her. He had his hand in a box of sugar cookie cereal.

“Timers?” Rocket said. Darcy had sent two boxes of cereal and--based purely on Rocket’s expression--imagined that Rocket had hidden the second box from Thor. 

“We do not have such things on Asgard. It is a useful and delightful addition to every Midgardian oven,” Thor said. “One Yuletide, Darcy gave me an independent timer in the shape of a tomato!” His smile fell. “Unfortunately, I broke it. My hands are quite large and sometimes I do not know my own strength,” he told Rocket. Thor looked sad.

“Remind me to send you another one,” Darcy whispered to Jane. “He looks so sad, I didn’t know he was so attached to his Pomodoro.”

“Very,” Jane said. “He tried not to cry in front of Loki and then Loki spent three days trying to put it back together again with magic.”

“Awwwww,” Darcy said. “I missed so much on your last Asgard trip.” She stopped to write herself a note that said _timer for Thor_ , then stuck the star shaped Post-It on her memo board in the living room. 

“Gingerbread?” Jane said.

“Huh?” Darcy said, turning back to the phone.

“Are you doing gingerbread cookies?” she repeated.

“Nope, guess again,” Darcy said.

“Sugar cookies with red and green sprinkles?” Jane said.

“Nuh-uh,” Darcy said. “Those aren’t even your favorites!”

“Snickerdoodle?” Jane said.

“That wasn’t me, that was Betty Crocker,” Darcy said. “That was a really good mix, though.” She’d made Snickerdoodles with a bagged mix one time. They’d been excellent. She should probably get more of that stuff when they were back. She thought maybe the Betty Crocker people had put cinnamon oil in the mixture you rolled the cookies in. They had been intensely cinnamony.

“I give up,” Jane said.

“My oatmeal chocolate chips with pecans, hellloooo,” Darcy said. “You always say you love them best.”

“Yay,” Jane said, “I forgot those were my favorites.” Darcy snorted. “What? You make all kinds of cookies, Darce,” Jane said. 

“True,” Darcy said. “I need to soften some butter, though.” She set the sticks of butter out on the counter and carried her phone to the daybed couch. “Tell me about your new portal theory while I put my feet up?” she asked, plopping down with a sigh. 

“Ughhhhh,” Jane said. “My math isn’t working.”

“I found a mistake!” Rocket called out, voice gleeful.

“Oh, no,” Darcy said. She leaned closer to the phone. “He found a _mistake?_ I don’t believe it. Rocket, are you lying?” she called back.

“Scout’s honor, there was a tiny error. Fractional error,” he said. Jane sighed. 

“It threw off the whole equation,” she said sadly.

“But you’ve got the math fixed now,” Darcy said. “So….?”

“I still need to work on it,” Jane said.

“You’ll get it with cookies,” Darcy said. “Always works.” They chatted for awhile and Darcy made sure to put on holiday music. The rest of the Guardians wandered off, but Jane kept working. Darcy could tell she was slightly down. “Should I portal you a flash drive with the Dean Martin holiday album?” she offered. She could easily transfer some of her music files.

“Yes, please,” Jane said. “And Elvis.”

“Elvis? _Elvis?”_ Darcy said, incredulous. Jane did not share her Elvis mania. “Who are you and where is Dr. Jane Foster?” Darcy asked, doing big eyes at Jane.

“I miss you,” Jane said. “And your love of weirdly sexual Elvis holiday music.”

“It’s just the one song,” Darcy said. She meant “Merry Christmas, Baby.” It was the world’s sexiest holiday song on this side of the Eartha Kitt catalogue. “But it was sad watching them turn on the lights at Graceland without you,” Darcy said. She typically tortured Jane with the annual Christmas lighting livestream from Memphis.

“Yeah,” Jane said, sounding genuinely put out.

“Don’t be like that,” Darcy said. “We’ll be together again soon.”

“Where’s Rumlow?” Jane said.

“Working late,” Darcy said. “He texted me to say he was doing some reports.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” Jane said.

“No,” Darcy said. She giggled. “He sent me sexy duckface selfies, too. He was in his office.” She got up to finish Jane’s cookies. “It’s nice that we can do separate things, too,” she thought out loud, setting the phone down and poking the butter with her index finger. The wrapper dented nicely. That meant it was soft enough. “I like that he doesn’t want me to sit around watching him shoot guns or something—”

“Oh my God,” Jane said.

“What?” Darcy said. “What happened? Is it the math?”

“You like his duckface because of Elvis!” Jane said, bursting into laughter. “He has the hair, too.” She shrieked with laughter. Darcy stood there for a moment, holding her spatula. It sunk in slowly. She stared at Jane’s laughing face on the phone. She thought about the duckface. And the poster of Elvis she’d hung in her room when she was twelve. It had been young Elvis. Young, lip curling Elvis. With strands of hair on his forehead.

“He has the hair,” she repeated. “I never realized it before.”

“Y-yup!” Jane said, still laughing.

“The hair and the—that,” Darcy said, thinking of Brock's alternating between poutiness and cool charisma.

“Sounds like somebody has a type,” Rocket chimed in, appearing with a box of cereal. He put a few pieces in his mouth. “Elvis, huh?”

“Are his sideburns that long?” Darcy wondered. Jane shrugged, still mirthful. 

* * *

Darcy was almost ready to bake the cookies when her phone dinged. “That’s Brock,” she said, surprised. “He wants to take me to dinner?” She was mid-scoop on another dozen cookies and her yoga pants had flour on them. “Can I call you back?”

“Sure,” Jane said. There was a chorus of goodbyes from _The Milano._ They were after cookies, Darcy thought, amused by their politeness. Those sneaks! She texted Brock to come up and answered the door when he knocked. 

“Hi,” she said. “I’d kiss you, but I’m covered in flour.”

“It’s okay,” he said, embracing her anyway. It was a less polite kiss than she was expecting. He teased her mouth with his tongue and she forgot her messy apron.

“Oh,” Darcy said, sighing, when he pulled back. “Would you mind if we stayed in? Got delivery?” she asked, nuzzling at his neck a little and brushing flour off his shirt front. He looked a little disappointed, she thought. Why?

“No, no,” he said. He smiled. “Sounds like a party.”

“I’ve got Christmas music and a _Home Alone_ ambiance video on,” she told him, wondering why he was upset. “We party hard in this house. You want some wine?”

“That’d be great,” Brock said, taking off his coat. “You want help in the kitchen?”

“Sure,” she said. They ordered Chinese and then he helped scoop the dough onto cookie sheets as they waited. “You’re very helpful,” Darcy told him, as they put the cookies in the oven.

“I, uh, don’t usually eat cookies,” he said slowly, looking guilty.

“Oh, these are for Jane,” Darcy said. “Don’t panic, I won’t make you dessert everyday. Thor can eat dessert everyday, but he’s a thousand and super juiced, so….”

“I could try them,” Brock said, looking less guilty and more stubborn. Darcy grinned.

“You might have to fight a crew for them,” she said. “I’m going to go change, you go sit.”

She was changing in her bedroom when he called out to her. “What’s this Christmas music? It’s twangy,” Brock said. “Since when do you like country music?” Her little wifi speaker was on the coffee table.

“Excuse me, that is the Squirrel Nut Zippers and they are awesome,” Darcy said. “Okay, there’s one song on there that’s really cringe, but it’s a mid 90s album,” she admitted, thinking guiltily about it; she loved “A Johnny Ace Christmas” and the romantic “My Evergreen,” but “Indian Giver” was a bad song in hindsight, even if it was just a pun, she could admit it. “But I can switch to something fancier, sir,” she called back, fiddling with her phone. The music from the living room changed to something softer.

“French music?” he said. 

“You can tell everybody your fiancée is very fancy or something,” Darcy said from her bedroom, changing into a clean pair of leggings and a frankly sexy wrap blouse in blue velvet. She had ordered it from a retro clothing website. She arranged the wrap, so the edges of her lace bra were purposely visible over the top. She had seen a photograph of Dita von Teese wearing a purple dress with lingerie visible underneath and decided to copy it. Darcy went into the bathroom to freshen her makeup and spritz herself with Obsession. She put on her earrings, just so he’d know she liked them. Darcy stopped for a moment. She hadn’t worn her pearl station necklace much in front of him, but she wanted to make sure he knew she liked it, too. Once her perfume had dried, she put the necklace on. She needed to put a little argan oil on her hair tonight, she thought. The cold was making her ends a little fuzzy looking. Other than that, she looked amazing, she thought, swishing her earrings back and forth. The blue in her clothes accentuated the blue tones in her pearl station necklace and her new blouse was spectacular. He should be impressed. Darcy wanted Brock to be impressed, she realized. She'd never really felt that way before--not about anyone. She took a deep breath and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. When she came back, she heard Brock talking and realized he was on the phone.

“Yeah, Ma,” he was saying. “We’re staying in tonight; Darcy’s making chocolate chip cookies. Yeah, she likes to bake, too. You saw that--”

“I’ll turn this down,” she mouthed, lowering the music. He smiled at her--then his eyes went wide.

“She likes your music,” he said back. He gave her a heated look, eyes lingering on her body. 

“She thinks I’m classy, right?” Darcy whispered, grinning. He covered the receiver. 

“Yeah. She’s also been stalking your Instagram,” he said dryly. “I’m being told to behave myself.”

“Good,” Darcy said. "You should behave." He made a face.

“C’mere,” he said, patting the couch. “You look great.” 

“Nope,” Darcy said. She needed to send those cookies before he got her all distracted. He pouted his lips at her and she felt herself grin. She went back into the kitchen and took the cookie sheets out of the oven. She could faintly hear Brock talking as she prepped a plate to portal to Jane.

“Sure, Ma,” he said. “I know, I know.” It was all she could do not to laugh. Instead, she put the cookies in the portaling microwave and set the timer. For safety, she moved out of the kitchen. “What was that?” Brock asked, when it hummed and dinged. 

“Um,” Darcy said. “Jane’s cookies departing by, um--” She decided to lie. Jane wouldn’t mind. “Asgardian mail system? Sort of?” Darcy said. She changed the _Home Alone_ ambiance video to a bigger, more romantic fireplace.

“You’re sending them to Jane,” he said. “How?”

“Don’t ask questions I can’t answer,” Darcy joked. He grinned.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. Then he frowned. “Yeah, I know she’s very young and beautiful, I’m looking at her. Ma, I gotta hang up to pay Darcy some attention,” Brock said into the phone. Darcy giggled. “I love you,” he said to his mother. “I’m glad you’re excited.” He hung up and looked at her, blinking. 

“So,” Darcy said. “Your mom has decided to like me?”

“Yeah,” he said. He held a hand out. "Get over here," he said. 

“That’s good. My mom has been drooling over your gym selfies for days,” Darcy said, sitting down and leaning over to kiss him. His eyes were ambiguous.

“You look fucking wonderful,” he said.

“Mmm-hmm," she said, feeling the tiniest bit smug. She liked having his total attention. 

“How’d she get ‘em?” he asked, as Darcy kissed his ear. “Your mother?” He was frowning; his accounts were private.

“I sent them to her!” she said, laughing. When she pulled back, he looked befuddled. Or bewitched. She couldn't tell which. Darcy studied him for a second.

“What is it?” he said, voice throaty.

“You’d probably look really good in sideburns,” she sighed out, raking her fingers through his hair.

“You want me to grow sideburns?” he said.

“No, no,” Darcy said, feeling weirdly caught. “It was just a thought. Random thought. No, um, meaning to it or anything.”

“Sure,” he said, giving her an intense look. “God, you smell good.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“Any other thoughts?” he said, kissing her neck. 

“Not really,” she breathed out. “I mean, I have weird thought about this Édith Piaf song, but this doesn’t seem like the moment.” He grinned. “Noël de la Rue” was playing on her little speaker. 

“Uh-huh,” he said. “It’s not a sexy song?”

“Nope,” Darcy said, shaking her head. “Christmas in the streets. All about poor, barefooted kids pressing their noses into windows and seeing other people have Christmas.”

“Why’d you tell me that?” he said, frowning.

“I have to live with knowing it and now you do, too,” Darcy said. He grimaced. It was such a funny expression, she beamed at him. “You’re wondering why you’re with me. It’s a good thing I’m cute, right?” she said. He gazed at her ambiguously for a moment, then started kissing her again, more intensely. It was a little overwhelming. They were still entangled on the couch when the doorbell rang. 

“Chinese,” Darcy said, vaguely remembering that they’d ordered dinner.

“I’ll get it,” he said. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said, pressing her lips together as he got up. She readjusted her shirt. Left boob was attempting a run for the border. He'd squished her lacy bra a little. That was when she noticed the box on the coffee table. A wrapped, beribboned box. “Brock?” she said. “What’s in the box?”

“Just a little present,” he said, setting the food down. She gazed at the box as they ate. 

“It’s not too expensive, is it?” she said. 

“Nah,” Brock said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” She ate her food, but her eyes kept being dragged back to the box. “You like your food, right?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said. He watched her for a second. “Just trust me,” Brock said. She nodded. 

“Okay,” Darcy repeated.

“This song’s not disturbing, right?” he asked suddenly. Her music was still playing.

“No, that’s “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” in French,” Darcy said, grinning. “Speaking of, Mr. Presents.” She leaned in and kissed him again, sighing. He tasted like Chinese food. He chuckled. 

“Open your present,” Brock told her, when her eyes strayed to the box again. Darcy worried her lip. “You won’t mind that I buy you presents when I’m all hairy and have big fucking sideburns,” he told her wryly. “What, do you have a Tom Selleck thing?” 

“No,” Darcy said. “I could never forgive him for those reverse mortgage commercials.”

“Yeah?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“Stealing your grandparents’ house,” she muttered, stabbing a vegetable with her fork. 

“Sure,” he said. 

“I do kind of have an Elvis thing,” she admitted.

“Yeah?” he said, looking delighted. 

“A little thing,” she averred, glad Jane wasn’t there to rat her out. It would happen eventually, but he didn’t need to know yet. 

“With the bedazzled fucking jumpsuits?” Brock said.

“Those were designed by a guy named Bill Belew,” Darcy said, then realized she’d said too much. She shouldn’t mention that the embroidery was really spectacular, when you looked at close up photos. Belew had designed motifs of peacocks, suns, flames, dragons, Spanish tiles, flowers, Egyptian designs...anything he'd wanted to design, really. Elvis had given him free reign and only asked that his _Aloha from Hawaii_ suit have an American-themed design--she realized Brock was grinning at her.

“Uh-huh,” he said, smirking so his scars twisted.

“What?” Darcy said. Had she said something out loud about the eagle-themed _Aloha_ jumpsuit, she wondered?

“You’ve got a thing for flashy guys,” Brock said.

"Uhhh--" Darcy couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I get it now,” he said casually. He ate a piece of broccoli. “Flashy, extremely _good-looking_ guys,” he added.

“Possibly,” she said, just to make him feel good. Not because he was right or anything.

“With the hair,” he said.

“Yes,” Darcy said, daring to look at him. “Very good-looking men with the hair,” she agreed.

“I got some suits I used for undercover work,” he said, expression amused. “They’re, uh, colorful.”

“Oh,” she said. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I wore them?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Darcy said, without thinking. She couldn’t imagine being embarrassed by him. She was a little offended that he thought she would be. He grinned. 

“One of them is orange,” he said, as if he was testing her.

“I like orange,” she told him. "Orange is a nice color." 

“Didn’t Elvis buy people gifts all the time?” he said, suddenly changing topics. “Cars, stuff like that?” _Oh, no,_ Darcy thought. _Oh, no._

“Yes,” she said, feeling well and truly caught this time. He had ammunition now. 

“Uh-huh,” he said. “So, he probably bought jewelry, too?” She nodded, speechless. “Probably plenty of things for his wives, huh?”

“Just one,” Darcy said slowly. “Lots of girlfriends. One wife.”

“That right?” he said. He looked at the box. “You wanna open it?” he said.

“Yes,” she told him, torn between temptation and anxiety. Brock smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A random assortment of links:
> 
> Edith Piaf's "Noel de la rue": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGCFnXWtahA 
> 
> Darcy's blouse is a fantastic Michelline Pitt wrap: https://www.michelinepitt.com/collections/frontpage/products/vintage-wrap-top-blue-velvet-vixen-by-micheline-pitt
> 
> And Darcy's Dita von Teese inspiration: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/1759287340374555/
> 
> Bill Belew's jumpsuits for Elvis _were_ amazing: https://www.elvis.com.au/presley/elvis-presleys-jumpsuits-bill-belew.shtml
> 
> In the linked interview, Belew talks about Elvis's gift-giving at a jewelry store where he bought things: _"...there was a lady that had been coming in for quite some time, and had been admiring an emerald and diamond ring...she just would come in. And look at it and they'd been trying to talk to her about putting some money on it, paying it off. No, no, no her husband wouldn't allow her to do it. So anyway she was there that day when Elvis walked in. And, she looked at it and [the jeweler] took it and put it back into the case. And Elvis said to him, you know, 'What's that all about?' And he said well, you know, and told him the story about her. And, how she'd always wanted this ring and she was afraid her husband would get upset if she bought it. And, [Elvis] said, 'Go and box it up and give it to her'....He went to the lady and she said 'What's this?' And he said, 'That gentleman over there, Mr. Presley, would like for you to have this ring'. And she got very emotional and she said 'No, no you can't do this' and [Elvis] said, 'Anybody that wants something that bad, should have it'. And he said 'I want you to have it. And please, accept it with my love and my gratitude'. And I just thought that was the neatest thing in the world. Just the neatest thing."_


	13. Merry Christmas, Sweetheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Happy Holidays!

“Go ahead,” Brock told her. “Open it.” Darcy reached for the box with nervous hands. She didn’t know what kind of gift she was expecting--or even what she wanted it to be. Something spectacular and terrifying? 

“Okay,” she said, as she turned it in her hands, imagining the contents of the box. It was too little to be a bracelet or a big necklace, she thought. Earrings? A ring, maybe? “But it’s not even Christmas yet.” She glanced at Brock. He was watching her keenly, a strange expression on his face. “What is it?” she said, pausing.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. He leaned over and kissed her neck. His stubble tickled her skin. It was all she could do not to giggle. 

“Ohhh,” Darcy said, grinning happily. “Thank you.” She set the present in her lap to put her arms around him. He was so strong, she thought, feeling the muscles in his back. 

“Don’t forget about that,” he murmured.

“I’m just a little distracted by all your gorgeousness,” she sassed him back. He snorted. She put her hand under his shirt and realized he was wearing the chain she’d given him. “You’re wearing your chain to work,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes sliding to her face. “Haven’t taken it off.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, studying the way the gold links glinted in the low light.

“Might have take it off for missions,” he added. “Not my choice. Safety regs.” He kissed her again, pressing his mouth against her temple and then her cheekbone.

“Sure,” Darcy said, sighing happily. 

“Open it,” Brock said, voice low. He nuzzled her neck. Darcy inhaled and then undid the ribbon gently. She wanted to prolong the moment. Brock was kissing her shoulder and telling her how pretty she looked as she tore the wrapping paper. It came apart with a ripping sound and Darcy paused. She glanced at him quickly. Brock had drawn back to watch her. The exterior box had a jeweler’s insignia printed on the lid. She took it off. Inside, there was a leather jewelry box with a fancy clasp. 

“Beautiful,” Darcy said. 

“You haven’t seen it yet,” Brock said, sounding amused.

“Hmm,” Darcy said. She undid the box clasp and opened the hinged lid slowly. “Oh,” she whispered, stunned and pleased at once: sitting on the velvety interior was a sparkling, albeit tiny necklace. A pavé diamond heart on thin white gold chain. When she held it up, it swung and glittered. “Brock,” Darcy said, happy and stunned at once, “it’s beautiful.”

“You like it?” he said, smiling. 

“I love it--it’s so...so delicate,” Darcy said. She loved the thinness of the chain and the size of the pendant. The heart floated in the center of the chain. It had a fairy-fine quality.

“I knew you’d like it because of your ring. And I, uh, read a thing when you left me in that hospital bed,” Brock said. “Elizabeth Taylor had a heart necklace sorta like this. Mike Todd gave it to her.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, utterly charmed. “It’s perfect. I really love it.” 

“Yeah?” he said, visibly pleased. She kissed him. When she drew back, he looked almost smug. That reminded her of something. 

“But I did not leave you in the hospital bed,” Darcy said. “I want the record corrected--”

“You stormed out,” he said, smirking.

“I did not--” she argued, grinning.

“Yes, you did, sweetheart,” he insisted.

“I was making a point,” Darcy said. The necklace was still in her hand. She noticed because she’d balled her fist up. A little.

“Uh-huh. Point made,” he said, laughing. He unclenched her fingers and took out the necklace. “Lemme put this on and then we’ll see what you’d like to take off?” he bargained, smirking. She turned and he unhooked her pearls and put them gently on the coffee table. “Making a point,” Brock repeated, chuckling.

“Do you like it when we argue?” Darcy said wonderingly, as he moved her hair to latch the heart pendant around her neck.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s fun. Exciting. Besides we don’t really fight. Not really.”

“What?” she said incredulously. 

“You’re easy going,” he said. Darcy turned and looked at him in shock. He was completely serious, she realized.

“Me?” Darcy said. He smirked and wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m pretty fucking sure you’re crazy about me,” he said. Darcy pretended to shake her head, but she couldn’t keep from grinning. “Have I mentioned how good you look in that?” Brock asked, looking at her velvet top.

“Mmm-hmm. You like it?” 

“Yeah,” he said.

“You paid for it,” Darcy said archly. He carried her to the bedroom by tossing her over his shoulder. Brock was in a good mood, she realized, as he pretended to drop her on the bed and she shrieked. He was playful with her, teasing her about being crazy about him as they wigged out of their clothes, kissing and touching each other. “Oh, God,” Darcy said, when he pressed his fingers into her. “I—I,” Darcy stuttered, “I want you so much.”

“I know, it’s one of my favorite things about you,” he said dryly. She mock slapped at him until he moved his hand and she couldn’t really talk anymore. He seemed to find her breathless reaction funny. “You’re going to be very happy as long as we’re doing this thing, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her. Darcy met his eyes, momentarily thrown. He was calling them a thing like he thought they were still faking a relationship?

“Except I’m not faking anything tonight,” she sassed, saying the first thing that popped into her mind. He burst out laughing. It was the most fun they’d had together—certainly the most fun Darcy had ever had with anyone. 

They were half-asleep when she thought to ask him a question. “What do you like?” Darcy said. She was thinking of Christmas activities.

“Fucking,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. Darcy snorted. “What?” he said. “I like to screw. Even bad sex is better than no sex,” Brock said. “I get miserable if I go too long without fucking somebody. You don’t know…” 

“Hmm?” Darcy said. He’d gone quiet.

“I just like sex,” he said, sounding irritated. “People pretend to be all goddamned above it, but it’s a basic human need.”

“Mmm-mmm,” Darcy said. “Sure.” He caught her amused expression. “So that’s what you want more of for Christmas?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah,” he said. He ran his fingers over her necklace. Darcy shivered. “You could blow me more, that’d be nice.”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said.

“I’m not faking anything either,” he said wryly.

* * *

“You realize you’re looking at your necklace in the side of the toaster,” Jane told Darcy. They were on the phone again. She was making toast and Jane was doing math on the other side of the universe.

“You hush,” Darcy said, yawning. “It’s pretty!” Brock had woken her up with kisses before he left for the gym. She was still a little sex dazed. “Tell me about your new idea?” Darcy added. Jane had a theory.

“I like happy you,” Jane announced. “You’re paying more attention to work.”

“Because she’s embarrassed by all the nookie she’s getting,” Rocket cut in.

“Nookie?” Darcy said, eyebrows going up. Jane giggled.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Lewis,” he said, waving a paw airily. “An embarrassment of riches is only embarrassing when the other suckers are starving to death.”

“That’s a horrifying metaphor,” Jane said. Rocket shrugged his furry shoulders.

“Nah,” he said. “In her case, it just means she shouldn’t brag about bagging her hot, emotionally unavailable murderer in front of Quill, he might be jealous,” Rocket said.

“I have a hot, emotionally unavailable murderer?” Darcy said, gobsmacked. Was he…? Possibly. Not just possibly, probably. She felt startled. It was strange to think of the guy who’d jokingly kissed each of her toes last night being violent. It was a depressing thought. He probably needed more care, she realized.

“I always thought it would be Loki,” Jane mused.

“What?” Darcy said. “You thought I’d fall for the man who steals all my green sprinkles and green glitter? I am offended—”

“Don’t let him hear that,” Rocket said.

“He’s there?” Darcy said.

“Exiled again,” Jane said. As if he’d heard them, Loki appeared in the doorway.

“Jane, please tear yourself away from your nearsighted and clumsy assistant and come collect my brother,” he began. “He and Drax decided to have a drinking contest.”

“Hey!” Darcy said, insulted, as Jane got up. “Prince Snothead!” Loki pretended not to hear her as the two of them left. “Can you believe him?” Darcy said to Rocket.

“I’d advise against it,” the raccoon said.

* * *

“I’ll be right there,” Darcy called, when Brock rang her doorbell. They were having dinner with Jack and Roger. She opened the door. He was wearing a suit so blindingly bright that she was surprised.

“Wow,” Darcy said, as he stepped inside. “It’s very...orange.”

“You want me to change?” he said. “I can change.”

“No, no,” Darcy said. She was still in her bathrobe. She felt herself grinning. “Well, actually…maybe you could take it off?” She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. “We’ve got time, right?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, not getting it.

“Drop your pants, Commander,” Darcy said. “We’re going to have some fun now.”

“Oh,” he said. “Fuck.”

“I am _trying_ ,” she teased. She had never seen someone get out of their pants so quickly. Or maybe it just seemed that way because the suit made you blink if you looked at it for too long. She kneeled between his knees, pausing to kiss the inside of his thigh. 

“So, I just ask for things and you wanna do them?” he said suddenly.

“Why not?” Darcy said. He stared down at her. “Did you want to lay back?” she asked. He blinked. Darcy realized he wasn’t talking. “Okay, back you go,” she said. She pushed on his abdomen and he rolled back slowly. “Pretty abs,” Darcy murmured. She kissed the plane of his stomach and then moved down again.

“Oh, Jesus H. Christ,” he said, a few minutes later. Brock groaned. “That feels so fucking good. So good. Baby, I love you.”

He was lying on the bed, eyes closed, when she got up and brushed her teeth. “Where you going?” Brock said. Darcy wasn’t going to gloat that he’d said he loved her. Instead, she tossed him a packet of face wipes.

“I’m getting ready for dinner. Clean yourself up,” she said.

“You’re something else,” he said. He pulled out one of the towelettes. “Coconut?” 

“You’ll smell pretty,” Darcy told him. She got her long sleeved Roland Mouret out of the closet and took off her robe. “Zip me?” Darcy said, once she had the dress on. He had his pants back on, but hadn’t zipped his fly. 

“Sure,” he said, kissing the top of her head. He looked at her in mirror. “I like how you look tonight.” Darcy had skipped her usual bright lipstick in favor of dark eyes and a rosy-beige lip. It was the same makeup she’d practiced on earring night.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, pleased. She tilted her head and studied their reflection. 

“You hate the suit,” he said.

“No!” Darcy said. “It’s fun. I think we look hella cute.” 

“Hella cute?” Brock said. She grinned at their mirror images. Darcy nodded.

“The orange makes you look even more tan. And I’ll be able to find you anywhere. But don’t you need to zip your pants?” she said.

* * *

“Oh dear God,” Roger said suddenly.

“What is it?” Jack said, turning in the direction of Roger’s astonished look.

“He’s dressed as a traffic cone,” Roger said. That was when Jack saw Brock and Darcy being led over by a hostess. Brock was wearing a vividly orange suit. 

“Bloody hell,” Jack said. “He looks like a sunset at Uluru.” But they looked happy, Jack thought. Darcy was clinging to his arm; Brock was smiling at her. In the low lighting of the restaurant, you might not even notice his scars. Jack stood up to greet them and introduce Roger. “Darcy, this is my Roger,” Jack said.

“You are stunning,” Roger told her, without preamble. She was wearing a very posh-looking dress, Jack thought. Black and daringly low cut in the front. 

“Thank you,” Darcy said, as he pulled out a chair for her. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Am I not stunning?” Brock asked wryly. Roger sighed.

“That’s one word for it,” he told Brock. Jack grinned at Roger’s tone.

“Sit down, mate,” Jack said to Brock.

“You’re drawing a crowd,” Roger said. Brock sat down; Jack noticed he was carrying a bag. He stashed it under the table.

“I like his suit,” Darcy said loyally, reaching over and rubbing Brock’s arm. She smiled at him gently. “You look handsome, babe.”

“Really?” Roger said skeptically. “That suit?”

“It has personality,” she said, grinning at Roger’s expression. “And I love your lapel pin. Is that a holly?” Darcy asked. Jack couldn’t help but grin; that was exactly the kind of compliment Roger loved. He collected vintage lapel pins. Roger looked down to the rhinestone leaves and berries pinned to his jacket.

“Uh, yes. I can’t get Jack to try lapel pins,” he said sadly. “It’s a vintage costume piece.”

“They don’t suit me,” Jack said. 

“He prefers denim jeans,” Roger said, shaking his head. Brock snorted. Darcy looked at all of them in amusement.

“I read an article at _Collector’s Weekly_ about, um, what’s the name? Napier! There was a place in Los Angeles that had all these beautiful midcentury pieces of costume jewelry. It sounded fantastic,” Darcy said. “They loaned pieces for movies and things. You could just go into their archives and slide out trays and trays.”

“Oh, really?” Roger said in a different tone. This was a sign of interest, Jack knew.

“She’s studying up on jewelry,” Brock said cheerfully. “I’ve learned a lot.” They talked Roger’s collection of pins, then about the restaurant and their holiday plans. “You want champagne?” Brock said, when the waiter arrived to take their order. “She loves champagne.”

“It’s festive,” Darcy said. 

“Too right, love,” Jack agreed. It was a pleasant meal, Jack thought, as he and Darcy split a bottle of champagne and talked about things to do in DC over the holidays. Darcy actually talked to Roger about his work.

“I’m trying to organize a Charlotte Filbert show,” Roger said, showing her images on his phone.

“Oh, I love that,” Darcy said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic. That got them talking about color and interior design. She’d read about some interior designer recently and was trying to remember the woman’s name. Jack noticed Brock peering over Darcy’s shoulder to see the art on Roger’s phone.

“Dorothy Draper,” Roger said. 

“Yes!” Darcy said. “I was reading about her in a book about happiness and it talked about how she used all these bright midcentury colors.”

“Have you been to the Greenbrier?” Roger asked. “The lobby is extraordinary--”

“What are you smiling about, brother?” Brock whispered to Jack.

“It’s bloody nice to have a meal where somebody talks to him about things he likes,” Jack admitted quietly. He didn’t want Roger to overhear. His SHIELD coworkers talked about missions or bureaucracy and didn’t understand Roger’s interests. They frequently asked him what an art dealer actually did. Brock nodded. They talked about work things until the food arrived. Roger was still showing Darcy artists and talking about gallery shows.

“Get her some art for me to buy, Roger,” Brock said. 

“Don’t do that--he’s always wanting me to spend money,” she said.

“In this case, I agree with him,” Roger said. He paused. Jack recognized the signs of Roger trying to mentally match a person with artwork. “You might like Liv Antonecchia,” Roger said. “You bake desserts?” he asked.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “A little.”

“She’s great at cakes,” Brock said. “She watches that British baking show all the time.”

“Liv Antonecchia does sculptures in the shape of cakes and donuts,” Roger said.

“Perfect, get a fucking dozen, baby,” Brock said. Roger was busy showing Darcy photos on his phone. Roger waved a hand at Brock dismissively and he grinned.

“You’re very happy,” Jack said to Brock.

“Yes, I am,” he said. 

“Oh!” Darcy said suddenly. “We have Christmas presents for you both.” She turned to Brock. Grinning, he got the bag. Darcy handed a small wrapped box to Roger and another, larger box to Jack. 

“She picked ‘em out, I just paid for them,” Brock said. “That means you’ll like them.”

“So, you can blame me if you hate them,” Darcy said at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed. Roger glanced at Brock, subtly raising his eyebrows. Roger opened his present first. It was a pair of cufflinks in the shape of little pugs wearing striped sweaters. “But Jack told me you liked pugs,” Darcy said. When she’d mentioned dragging Brock to a pet adoption, Jack had told her that Roger wanted a pug.

“Oh,” Roger said, “these are lovely--I do like pugs.” 

“I’ve got her watching Petfinder for us, love,” Jack said.

“Oh, you shouldn’t,” Roger bagan. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you--”

“Technically, I volunteered,” Darcy told him. “I also volunteer to pick up any future pugs in the DC metro area and drive them here.”

“She loves dogs,” Brock said. Jack opened his own present. He was grinning when Brock looked into the box. “What is it?” he asked.

“A Rolling Stones t-shirt,” Jack said happily. “She’s a beaut, thank you.” 

“I feel terrible that we haven’t brought you anything,” Roger said. “Just terrible.” He looked at Jack. “You did not tell me that we were doing presents.” His voice was arch. Jack knew this was going to be a topic of discussion at home.

“It was my idea,” Darcy said. “Don’t worry about it! But I feel like I should ask you about good local places to buy older furniture--I want an Art Deco vanity. I don’t mind refinishing one, I just don’t know where in DC might be a good place to find one. Consignment or auctions?” Darcy said. “An estate sale, maybe.”

“Why haven’t I heard about this?” Brock said. “I’ll get you one.”

“No, no,” Darcy said. “I’m paying for this myself. This is going to be my project.” Roger grinned a fraction, Jack noticed, while Brock looked dismayed.

“What kind of one do you want?” Roger asked. Darcy showed him photos on her phone.

“These are called waterfall vanities, I think? It’s doesn’t have to be perfect condition, I just want it to be physically sturdy, no wobbly or stuck drawers. I’d actually like to paint it a color.”

“Hmmm,” Roger said. “Let me keep an eye out.” When Darcy got up to go the bathroom, Roger looked at Brock. “I don’t know where you found her, but hang onto that woman. She seems infatuated with you. Even in that terrible suit.”

“I’m hanging on,” Brock grumbled. “She likes my suit.”

“Romanoff set them up,” Jack supplied. “That’s how he snagged her.”

“Send Natasha a Christmas gift,” Roger said. “And we’re paying for dinner.” He and Brock were still bickering over who would pick up the check when Darcy came back.

“Why are we arguing?” she said.

“Both of them are bloody stubborn,” Jack told her. 

* * *

“We really need to find you a place to live,” Darcy said, as Brock drove them back to his place. She was spending the night. “Like a real apartment. Or a condo. Did you want a condo?” she wondered. The Christmas lights along the street glimmered. 

“You could’ve told me you wanted a vanity,” Brock said, flicking his turn signal.

“This is just an idea that I have,” Darcy said, feeling expansive. She gestured. “I want to paint one pink. Or purple. I don’t want it to be in pristine condition or something, you know?” He was frowning.

“You want to refinish furniture?” Brock said.

“You shouldn’t paint something in perfect shape, but it’s okay if it’s a bit ratty already, that’s the rule,” Darcy rambled. “Can we drive around and look at Christmas lights?” She felt a little tipsy. The lights were all shimmery, she thought. Just like her necklace.

“Yeah, sure,” Brock said. He made a left. 

“I love my necklace,” Darcy told him, touching her collarbone.

“Yeah, I caught that,” Brock said. “Especially when you told our waiter. After that bottle of champagne you and Jack had.”

“Yup,” Darcy said. “You know, you’d think Jack would drink more, for such a tall person. He has the capacity, but he lacks inclination. I have all the inclination, but no capacity.”

“You still beat him, sweetheart,” Brock said, chuckling.

“Yup,” she repeated. “But I had a great time. What if we live together?”

“What?” he said. 

“You, me, your safe full of knives, my beautiful necklace, all in my apartment,” Darcy said. “Smoosh ‘em all together, make a beautiful closet of clothes and shiny things.”

“Your apartment?” Brock said. He sounded surprised. “You want me to live with you?”

“And your fun suits!” Darcy added. “It’ll be great. Where are we going?”

“Uh, I don’t know. They are doing a bunch of fucking holiday lights all over town,” Brock said. “So, you pick. You wanna hit U Street or go all ritzy and head to DuPont Circle?”

“Ooooh,” Darcy said. “Wait, no rich people. Rich people’s lights are always too tasteful. White lights, red bow, white lights. Absolutely zero personality.”

“That right?” he said.

“It’s true,” she insisted. “We’ll gather data. Do it all official.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “How’s that work?” 

“I’ll take pictures and compare them. But I already have a working hypothesis,” she said. He nodded. “Find me a neighborhood where nobody gets the Restoration Hardware catalogue, that’ll be where the best lights are,” she said.

“That sounds scientific,” Brock said. 

“Very,” Darcy said. “I learned from Jane.” 

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You warm enough? I can turn on the heat.” 

“Nope, I’m all bundled up.” She was wearing her fake leopard coat. “In my _your mom_ coat,” she joked, doing air quotes. He sighed. 

“I brought this on myself,” Brock said.

“You played yourself,” she agreed. Darcy turned up the radio. Frank Sinatra was singing Christmas songs. “You know,” she mused. “His Christmas album is surprisingly downbeat. It wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Sinatra?” Brock said.

“Don’t be offended as an Italian and a New Yorker,” Darcy cautioned. “I was just expecting something more...jazzy? But it’s very serious, for a Christmas album.”

“Sinatra was from Hoboken,” Brock said.

“Where’s that?” 

“Jersey,” Brock told her.

“Okay,” Darcy said, wiggling into her coat.

“You’re cold,” he said.

“I’m just getting cozy,” Darcy said. “You know what the worst Christmas song is--I mean, the absolute worst is people who think “Imagine” is a Christmas song, it is _not-_ -but the worst actual Christmas song?”

“Yeah?”

“Michael Bublé changed the words to “Santa, Baby” and it is appalling,” Darcy said. “Just awful. Who calls Santa their buddy? Also, I think it’s probably homophobic. Just be an honest golddigger and trophy boyfriend, Bublé! Eartha Kitt is rolling in her grave--are you laughing at me?”

“Yeah,” Brock said, grinning so his scars twisted. 

* * *

“Here’s your coffee, sweetheart,” Brock said, moving back into Darcy’s bedroom. They’d changed their plans and come back to her apartment after a tour of DC Christmas lights. He’d helped her out of her dress and into bed. She was in pajamas with little sledding puppies on them now. He’d worried she would be cold if she stayed naked. She seemed cold to him, with his serum-enhanced warmth. His faster metabolism meant he was always a degree or two warmer than he’d been beforehand.

“All my light photos turned out blurry,” Darcy said sadly. Brock passed her the mug and she smiled at him. 

“Yeah?” he said. She had been a little smashed, he thought. “That gonna ruin your data?”

“Possibly,” she admitted, scrunching her nose. Her disappointed face was oddly appealing. Whenever he looked at her, lust warred with amusement. “Boooo,” Darcy said. He climbed into bed and pulled Darcy in closer. It had been a fun night--calm for him, really, but he’d been entertained by Roger’s instant fondness for Darcy and Darcy buying Jack a t-shirt that he knew Roger would hate. Coming home and unwrapping her like a present had been a highlight. 

“Lemme make it better,” he said, kissing her until she giggled and complained he was sloshing her coffee. “You really want me to live with you?” Brock asked. He couldn’t believe she’d asked. It had been more than a year of dating before he and Miranda had moved in together. They’d debated it back and forth. But Darcy had just suggested it, as if moving in together was something you did easily? He was perplexed by how casual she was about it.

“Yup,” Darcy said, nodding. She gazed at him. “You want to makeout to Chris Isaak’s Christmas album?”

“Just how many fucking holiday albums do you own?” he cracked.

“Don’t make me count, I hate counting,” Darcy said, nuzzling him. 

“All right,” Brock said. He could move out, he reminded himself, if it didn’t work out or they got on each other’s nerves. “What are we watching?” he asked. She’d put a movie on.

 _“National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,”_ Darcy said, sighing. “I’m so happy. Have I told you I’m happy?”

“About four times tonight,” he said, feeling smug.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Jane asked. They were on the phone. Darcy had gone into the kitchen when her timer beeped. She had stuff in the oven.

“Brownies!” Darcy called.

“Oh, yay!” Jane said.

“These are for Brock’s STRIKE team,” Darcy said. “Sorry. I owe Jack some; his husband just sent me a list of estate sales next month. I’m looking for that vanity I want. We had dinner a few days ago, it was fun.”

“Ohhhh,” Jane said, visibly disappointed. 

“I’ll make you more of them,” Darcy said, setting down the pan with a clatter. “I need to decide what to wear.” Darcy walked back over to the phone. She was still in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. “I splurged on a new dress from Pinup Girl. It’s purple--”

“You’re buying things from a place called Pinup Girl?” Jane said.

“Jane,” Darcy said, “no political rants about sexism or objectification.”

“They’re sort of her thing!” Rocket called in the background. Darcy laughed.

“I’m just saying,” Jane began.

“I bought it to celebrate Brock moving in next week,” Darcy said. “It’s called the Monica and I hope it fits.”

“How much did you spend?” Jane asked.

“You absolutely do not want to know,” Darcy said. “But I wanna be Doris Mayday when I grow up, I’ve decided. She’s a retro model.” 

“This is not a life plan,” Jane said.

“But I can make your coffee in better clothes!” Darcy insisted. “And possibly better hair. Let me send you a haircut link?” She was contemplating getting a horseshoe haircut, too. She’d fallen down the rabbit hole of Sarah Necia’s Instagram account; the hairstylist did Dita von Teese’s hair and sold vintage-inspired wigs. 

“Please tell me it’s not bangs?” Jane said.

“It’s not bangs,” Darcy promised. “It’s a horseshoe cut.”

“A what?” Jane said.

“Horseshoe,” Rocket repeated.

“Wait while I go change,” Darcy said. She went into her bedroom and came back. “What do you think?” she asked Jane. She’d put on a raspberry v-neck sweater, winter leggings, and wide belt. Plus, her new necklace and favorite earrings. She loved them almost as much as she loved her ring.

“You look great, but why are you wearing a belt over your shirt?” Jane said.

“It’s a thing Natasha taught me,” Darcy said. “It accentuates your waist. Okay, I gotta go.”

“Are we not getting brownies?” she heard Rocket say as she ended the call. 

“I’m still wondering about horseshoe,” Jane said.

  
  


Darcy was carrying a foil tray of brownies towards Jack’s office when she heard Brock’s voice from the opposite end of the corridor. She was just about to turn the corner when an unfamiliar voice spoke. “I heard you’re marrying your rebound?” a male voice said jokingly. 

“Yeah, yeah, asshole,” Brock said, sounding not at all upset. “I’m marrying my rebound.” He laughed. “I got no regrets. I fucking upgraded. She’s younger, hotter, and gives better head than the original,” he cracked. Darcy realized _the original_ was probably Miranda and felt sick. 

“Sure, sure,” the other guy said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“No, she’s hot, like fucking hot,” a third male voice said. “He ain’t lying.”

“Hey, that’s my future wife,” Brock said, pausing for a moment--Darcy was frozen around the corner--“so keep telling everybody that,” he told them. Everyone laughed. It seemed loud to Darcy. Her heart was beating in her ears. She counted to ten and listened for some of the talk to die down. Then she turned the corner and called out his name. Her voice sounded weak--it felt like the words caught in her throat. Brock turned in surprise. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, smiling in a normal way. “You come to see me?” he asked. Darcy was extra conscious of the men watching her.

“Actually, I bought brownies for Jack,” she told him. Everyone was grinning at her. She felt humiliated. “But I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brock said, sounding impossibly smug to Darcy. “I guess I gotta go then.” She turned on her heel and walked towards his office, feeling like she could vomit. The door had barely shut behind them when Darcy turned and pitched the brownie pan at his head.

“You fucking asshole!” she said. She missed him and the brownies landed on the floor with a thunk.

“What the fuck?” he said. He’d been reaching for her and dropped his arm in surprise.

 _“She gives better head than the original?”_ Darcy repeated in a low voice. He went pale with shock. “You complete piece of shit,” she said.

“Baby,” Brock said, holding up his hands. “It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just how guys talk.”

“It’s humiliating,” Darcy said. “Humiliating for me.” 

“Darcy,” he said, reaching for her again.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, seething. She crossed her arms angrily. The motion reminded her of something; the engagement ring had poked her forearm. Darcy looked down and pulled the ring off, throwing it at him, too. He ducked a little. “You’re never going to touch me again.” He tried to follow her out, but she actually yelled at him loudly enough to draw attention. “I will fucking tase you, Brock Rumlow!”

“Sweetheart,” he pleaded, as she got on the elevator. People were watching them avidly. 

“Go to hell,” she said. Darcy glared at him as the doors shut, arms crossed over her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory fashion notes:
> 
> You neeeeed to see Sarah Necia's Instagram. One of her horseshoe cuts on Dita von Teese: https://www.instagram.com/p/CJEzL3gB30F/
> 
> The dinner dress is this Roland Mouret, again: https://www.shopyourtv.com/suits-season-9-episode-2-donnas-black-long-sleeve-dress/
> 
> Darcy's necklace: https://www.goldsmithjewelry.com/collections/hearts/products/white-gold-pave-diamond-heart-necklace
> 
> Which is inspired by this necklace of Elizabeth Taylor's. It was a gift from her husband Mike Todd shortly before he died in a plane crash. She wore it constantly afterwards; it was even part of her costume in _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof._ There's a great article here: https://theadventurine.com/culture/elizabeth-taylor/elizabeth-taylors-most-sentimental-jewel/


	14. Appropriate Swear Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

_“Baby, just talk to me. Let’s talk about this. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry--”_

Brock rambled on in Darcy’s ear. He was clearly weepy and upset. Darcy listened to the message another time, sighed, and deleted it. Brock had been calling and texting her all night since she’d stormed out of SHIELD. She’d had to silence her phone ringer and message notifications and was just checking her phone as her coffee brewed. “Asshole,” she muttered, feeling frustrated. Why did he have to sound so genuinely remorseful? She called Jane instead. “How are you holding up?” Jane asked sympathetically. They’d spoken last night. Darcy had ranted furiously and Jane had chimed in with the appropriate swear words.

“I’m all right,” Darcy said, ignoring the notifications on her emails. She couldn’t fully repress her sigh, however.

“He still calling?” Jane said.

“Yup,” Darcy said in a clipped voice. “I’m ignoring him until I don’t feel like screaming.” The doorbell rang. “Oh no,” Darcy said. “I hope it’s not him showing up here.” She stomped over to the door in her bathrobe. Through the peephole, she could see a bouquet of flowers, covering Brock’s face. “Shit,” she muttered.

“It’s him?” Jane called tinnily through the phone. Darcy threw the door open.

“Look, assh--oh,” she said. It was a florist’s delivery person. “Sorry,” Darcy said.

“No probs,” he said cheerfully.

“Thank you,” Darcy asked, talking the flowers from him.

“What’s going on?” Jane asked, when she returned to the phone.

“It was a poor delivery man that I almost cussed out,” Darcy said. “Brock sent flowers.” She sighed again. “Beautiful roses.”

“Oh,” Jane said. “Why don’t you call him?”

“I’ll have to eventually,” Darcy confided. “I still have his damn credit card. I ordered books yesterday. Should I return them?” she wondered. She was supposed to pickup the books from a local bookstore today. 

“Do you want to?” Jane said.

“I’m keeping the freaking jewelry,” Darcy said. “I decided that when I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Good for you, Lewis,” Rocket called out, somewhere behind Jane’s shoulder.

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy grumbled. She slurped her coffee and looked at the flowers. “Maybe gold diggers have the right idea,” she said bitterly. “I wish I could just have no feelings whatsoever--”

“Darcy,” Jane said gently.

“Well, it would put my _special_ skills to good use,” Darcy sniped. “If I could be someone’s spoiled mistress.” She thunked down her coffee angrily. “Why did I even do this, Jane?” she said. She felt agitated and upset. “I’m getting dressed. I need to do something.” 

“She’s not taking this well,” Rocket whispered to Jane. 

“Shhh,” Jane hissed. Her voice turned pleading. “Darcy, please don’t do anything dangerous--” 

“I’ll go get those books,” Darcy said. “He can take me to freaking court, if he has a problem with it.” She left the phone on the coffee table and marched angrily into her bedroom.

“Oh,” Jane said. “I think that’s a good idea, reading will calm you down.”

“She’s getting books? What books?” Rocket asked curiously.

“I don’t know!” Jane said, as Darcy came out, sweater half on. She looked at Jane as she struggled to get her arms in the sleeves. 

“I just had a thought,” she said. “Do you think he’s been telling everyone we know at SHIELD that I’m some sort of porn star in bed?” 

“Um,” Jane said. Rocket whistled. 

“Damn it!” Darcy said. “Why are these freaking sleeves so difficult?”

* * *

“Here are your books,” the sales assistant said, when Darcy marched up to the register to pick up her order. She was sure she looked odd wearing sunglasses indoors, but she had burst into tears at a nearby red light and had to wipe the mascara off her face before she came inside. “You’ve got, uh, Dita von Teese’s _Your Beauty Mark,_ Laren Stover’s _The Bombshell Manual of Style,_ and uh, Lauren Rennells’ _Vintage Hairstyling,_ ” he said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, sniffling. She left the store carrying her bag and got into the car. She looked guiltily at the bag. Brock had paid for these. Would she be able to enjoy them? She needed to make a clean break, she thought. She called him.

“Sweetheart,” he said, picking up on the first ring.

“I have your card,” Darcy said, trying not to cry too loudly, “so you need to meet me somewhere to pick it up.”

“Baby,” Brock said. “I’m sorry. I’ve got your ring--”

“Don’t call me baby, I’m not your baby,” she said, hating how much she liked the sound of his voice. Her voice cracked.

“Don’t cry,” he pleaded. 

“I’ll cry if I feel like it!” she snapped back at him. “You’re the one making me cry,” she added bitterly. 

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry, baby. I fucked up. I was stupid, okay? I did a stupid thing. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Why did you do it?” Darcy asked, wiping her eyes. She watched shoppers milling around. He was breathing on the phone. “I wanna know why you thought--you thought that was something anybody would say about their girlfriend. Not even your girlfriend! Those people think we’re getting married,” she added. “They thought you were saying that about your wife.” Her voice twisted in disgust.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” he said. “Lemme come over to your place--” His voice was coaxingly soft; Darcy cut him off.

“Bullshit,” Darcy said. “You know. You know what you meant. _I don’t know_ is what people say when they can’t admit the truth in public.” She paused. “Do you still wanna see me?” 

“Yes,” he said quickly. 

“So, you freaking tell me, all right? You tell me the truth, if we’re ever going to see each other again, I need to feel like you’re telling me the truth,” she said. She was so upset, her voice was high and felt trapped in her throat. “Tell me what the fuck you were thinking?” she said, starting to cry again.

“Fuck,” he muttered. There was a long moment of silence. Brock cleared his throat. “Baby?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said flatly.

“I was bragging, all right?” he said. “I said it because I was bragging about you, showing off.” He paused. “It’s fucking dumb, but I, uh, it made me feel good. People talking about us. About you.”

“Talking about us screwing with a bunch of dudes,” Darcy said, “made you feel good?” She was incredulous. “Talking about me like that?”

“Yeah,” he said, after another awkward silence. She heard him inhale. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think about how it sounded, I just--”

“You what?” she said, when he went quiet again.

“Ugh, fuck,” he said, sighing. “The last months we were together, I slept on the goddamned couch at Miranda’s. She didn’t--things weren’t good between us,” Brock said. “I felt like she couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, feeling mildly irritated that it always came back to Miranda.

“Much less touch me,” he said in a grim voice. “All my fucking scars. But then, uh, you showed up, and you didn’t--you weren’t afraid of me or put off. You didn’t seem freaked out or, uh, repulsed. Even that first night we slept together. Made me feel good. Really good. And, uh,” he said, voice cracking, “I wanted--a part of me wanted people to know how good our sex life was, how much you--” he said, sighing.

“How much I what?” Darcy said, torn between sympathy and frustration.

“How enthusiastic you were,” he said slowly. “About me. This is totally about me. Don’t be upset, okay?”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, putting her hands over her face. 

“Sweetheart, please,” Brock said. “You gotta understand, I just didn’t think about how it fucking sounded, okay?” 

“It’s so embarrassing,” Darcy said quietly. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Fuck,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of, all right. Why should you be embarrassed?”

“Don’t minimize my feelings,” Darcy said hotly. It had started to drizzle outside of the car. She turned on the windshield wipers. The rhythmic sounds were oddly soothing. “You told all your coworkers I’m good at blow jobs,” she reminded him. 

“I’m sorry,” Brock said quietly. “I fucked up. But I don’t think you should be embarrassed.”

“Oh really?” Darcy said, rubbing her temple. Her head hurt.

“You--there’s nothing wrong with you,” he said. “You’re just sexy.”

“Excuse me?” Darcy asked. “What does that mean?”

“You’re naturally like that,” Brock said. “Exciting. You don’t even notice the effect you have on people. The effect you have on me,” he added, voice low.

“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” Darcy said. 

“I want you, that’s what I mean,” he said. 

Darcy sighed. There was a long, awkward silence. “Just keep the card, all right? I want to work on things between us,” he said. His voice was sad. “Will you work on things with me? That’s all I want.”

“I’m still upset with you,” Darcy said, feeling oddly torn. She wanted him--but she was hurt. “I can _never_ have what I want, because I want the last twenty fours to have not happened,” she said in low voice. “I was so happy, Brock. So happy.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he repeated. They lapsed into silence. Finally, he spoke. “You can be happy again,” he said. “Just give me a second chance, I’ll make you happy.”

“How is that even possible?” Darcy wondered.

“We’ll have dinner tomorrow, all right?” Brock said coaxingly. “Say yes, sweetheart.” Darcy rubbed her forehead, uncertain.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Okay.”

“I love you,” he told her. She hung up without saying it back.

* * *

“When are you going to see him again?” Jane asked. She and Darcy were on the phone that around noon. Darcy had taken a shower--partially to help her relax and partially to help the puffiness around her eyes, read some of her books, and called Jane to update her on the call with Brock.

“Tomorrow,” Darcy said, sighing. “We’re going to dinner.”

“You don’t sound happy,” Jane said.

“I’m--I just wish I could erase the last day from my brain. Are we working on that yet?” Darcy said.

“Darce, no,” Jane said.

“Okay,” Darcy grumbled. “Fine.” She stood up. “Jane---I have all these feelings.” She paced back and forth. “When I’m talking to him, I want to be with him. As soon as we hang up, I start thinking--and then I want to run him over with my car. I go back and forth. It’s so frustrating. I don’t even feel like myself, I feel like another person. Crazy Darcy, not me.” Darcy sat down with a huff of frustration. “Tell me about work. Talk to me about something else--anything else.”

“Did you really want to talk about something else?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “I wish I could be a different person sometimes.” 

“Oh, sweetie,” Jane said. “You don’t need to be different.” Darcy sighed. She listened as Jane tried to distract her with other topics. It didn’t work; she was still fixated on him. “Darcy?” Jane said. She looked at her book and spoke.

“Did you know Dita von Teese dyes her hair with drugstore black hair dye?” Darcy said, turning a page in the big, glossy-paged beauty book. The burlesque dancer did her own hair, Darcy had discovered.

“Oh, no,” Jane said.

“What is it?” Rocket said, padding into the room. “They still fighting?”

“No dying your hair black at home!” Jane said.

“It could turn out well, you don’t know,” Darcy said. “I might look good!” She sighed. “I need a change. What about red hair?”

“Breakup hair?” Rocket whispered.

“How do you know about breakup hair?” Jane said. 

“I’ve seen things,” Rocket said. He shook his head. “Quill got into a funk once, went through a whole mullet phase. Asked people to call him MacGuyver.”

“Bleep-beep,” Groot said gesturing.

“That sounds...unfortunate,” Jane said. She peered at Darcy. “Darce, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to the drugstore,” Darcy said.

“That don’t sound good,” Rocket said. 

“Do you want anything?” Darcy asked, leaning towards the phone screen.

“Da-da,” Groot said, nodding.

“How ‘bout some of those Doritos?” Rocket said. “And, uh, you want some cereal, Groot?” Groot waved his branches eagerly. “Can you make a list?” Rocket asked Darcy. 

“Yeah, sure,” Darcy said. She looked around for a notepad. “I’ll get paper---and if he doesn’t like it, tough,” she muttered.

“Are you talking about Brock?” Jane said. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said, absent-mindedly. She found a notepad. “Tell me what you want?” she asked Rocket.

“Doritos,” Rocket began. “And, uh, some of them Pop-Tarts…”

* * *

“Natasha?” Darcy said, startled, when she looked up in the CVS aisle. The redhead had appeared suddenly. Darcy was standing in front of rows of hair color. She had a shopping cart full of chips, chocolate, cereal, and Frosted Strawberry Pop Tarts. 

“Jane called me,” she said, smiling. “She’s concerned you’re about to make a terrible mistake.”

“I dye her hair!” Darcy said, offended. “I dyed her hair in Europe--when the directions on the box were in other languages.” She shook her head and plucked a package from the shelf. “I was just thinking about dying my hair like Dita von Teese. She uses Nutrisse blue-black. Number twenty-two. They discontinued the Garnier 100% Color she used to use.” Darcy studied the column of before-and-after shades on the side of the box.

“You and Rumlow are having difficulties?” Natasha said. Darcy sighed.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “We, uh, started seeing each other for real. And it got messy.”

“I’m sorry,” Nat said. She pulled a box off the shelf. “Soft black, I think,” she said, passing it to Darcy. Darcy compared the two shades. 

“It’s totally his fault, of course,” Darcy said. “I think you’re right about the soft black.”

“Of course,” Nat said. Darcy sighed.

“I overheard him telling half of STRIKE Alpha that I’m good at oral sex,” she whispered to the Russian.

“Where would you like me to drop him from?” Nat said. Her expression was deadpan. Darcy laughed. “You laugh, but even Steve would,” Nat said. “He doesn’t like that kind of talk. It could be arranged.” She lifted one eyebrow a fraction. 

“I don’t want him dropped from anywhere,” Darcy said. “That’s the problem. I really, really like him. Physically, romantically, everything. When we’re alone together, he’s great. But I’m afraid he only thinks of me as his Miranda replacement.” She frowned at the boxes. “What do I do?”

“You let me help you color your hair,” Natasha said. “And we discuss recent events and plan a strategic response.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, grinning. Somehow, she felt less like crying when Nat was so calm.

* * *

“I don’t think you should go to dinner with him tomorrow,” Nat said, once Darcy had summarized events. She shook the bottle of hair color vigorously. They had just added a capful of a repair treatment from Sally’s into the mixture. Darcy watched as the color darkened inside the white bottle as she shook.

“I agree!” Jane said. They had Jane on the phone with them. Rocket and Groot were popping in and out of the call as they raided the snacks.

“Really?” Darcy said. She wasn’t surprised by Jane, but she was surprised by Natasha.

“I think you should postpone until you feel more certain and a little better,” Nat said. “Your self-esteem has been impacted by this situation and you’re vulnerable.”

“Yeah,” Darcy admitted. 

“So, we’ll do things to make you feel better first,” Nat said, eyeing the hair color bottle critically. “What else would you like to change?” she asked, shaking again.

“Do you think I should get a horseshoe haircut?” Darcy asked. She and Natasha discussed the different lengths and possibilities for a new haircut as Nat sectioned her hair. Nat had heard about a rockabilly salon in the area and thought they might be able to give Darcy a period haircut. 

“Can someone tell me what a horseshoe is?” Jane asked, sounding plaintive.

“It’s a haircut that’s shorter around the sides of the face and a u-shape in the back. Her horseshoe is maybe a little more exaggerated than a true middy haircut”--Darcy had found online diagrams for the basic u-shaped haircut-- “but I really like these cuts from Sarah Necia’s Instagram,” Darcy said. “I’ll send you a link, Janeybug.” 

“Okay,” Jane said. Darcy tapped her phone and then Jane went off screen to look. “I like it,” she announced brightly, when she returned. “It’s not bangs!”

“I told you it wasn’t bangs,” Darcy said. “I just don’t know what it’ll do with my natural texture. I can’t find before photos of anyone whose hair isn’t straight.” 

“I think it would be okay,” Jane said. Nat was combing color through Darcy’s hair when the doorbell rang. 

“I’ll get it,” Nat said. Darcy was sitting in a dining room chair they’d wedged into the bathroom in an old nightshirt.

“How do you stay so neat?” Darcy marveled as she walked away. She had a towel around her shoulders for the drips. But Nat’s gloved hands looked clean.

“Practice,” she said, shrugging.

“I thought your hair was naturally red?” Darcy asked.

“Not this red,” Nat said over her shoulder. Darcy and Jane did big eyes at each other. 

“The Black Widow dyes her hair!” Darcy said in a low voice.

“She’s dying your hair!” Jane said.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. 

“Are you two fangirling out?” Rocket said, climbing into the pilot’s seat behind Jane. 

“Shhhh,” Jane said. 

“Yes,” Darcy said at the same time. Darcy heard Nat answer the door. 

“Thank you,” she said, then returned with a package. Nat was studying it. “Rumlow has sent you a gift.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Let’s wait to open it. I feel all messy.”

“Sure,” Nat said. She passed Darcy the card. Darcy opened it. _I’m so sorry, sweetheart,_ he’d written. Darcy sighed. 

“I shouldn’t see him?” she asked Nat.

“Do you want to just forgive him?” Nat said, coaxing the comb through Darcy’s hair a final time. 

“No,” Darcy said, biting her lip. “Not entirely.”

“Then I think he needs to understand the magnitude of his error,” she said coolly. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. She wasn’t entirely sure about Natasha’s plan: the Russian thought she should put off seeing Brock for at least a week, if not more. How would he react, Darcy wondered? She needed to tell him. She looked at Nat as she set the timer on her phone. “How do I put him off? I’m not used to this. Normally, I want to see someone or I don’t,” she said.

“Let me handle him,” Nat said smoothly. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. They had finished applying her hair color and she was processing when Darcy decided to open the gift. Natasha carefully cut the tape on the outer cardboard box and passed the box inside to Darcy. It was wrapped in cute paper. “A clothing box?” Darcy said, eyebrows raised. “Thank you,” she told Natasha. 

“You’d think he’d stop by now,” Jane said. 

“No,” Nat said, smiling slightly. “Are you nervous?” she asked Darcy.

“Yeah,” she replied. “A little.” Darcy inhaled and then cut it open. “Oh,” she whispered. Folded inside the box was a beautiful multicolored scarf. Shades of lipstick pink, red, chocolate, and silvery lavender were woven together in chunky wool.

“Very sweet,” Nat said.

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said. “It’s beautiful.”

“It looks like something you’d pick out for yourself,” Jane said.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. It was more colorful and youthful than his typical gifts. More her. There was a note inside. _This reminded me of you,_ he’d written. 

“Lemme see it,” Rocket ordered. She held it in front of the screen. “A little bright, but nice stuff,” he told Darcy. “Looks pretty.”

“Bleep-bleep,” Groot agreed, nodding his branches. The tree was eating the snacks she’d portaled.

* * *

  
  


Darcy was in the shower shampooing out the dye when the doorbell rang another time. That was when she heard Brock’s voice. “Whaddya mean, I can’t see her?” he was saying.

“She’s in the shower,” Natasha said, sounding mildly irritated.

“Well, lemme talk to her anyway,” he insisted. Darcy heard a rap on the bathroom door. “Baby?”

“I’m in the shower!” Darcy said back. She heard the door creak.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “I wanted to see you.” 

“Yeah, well, I can’t see you,” she grumbled.

“Why not?” Brock said.

“I don’t have my glasses or contacts, you’re just a big blur—and you’re letting the cold air in!” Darcy said.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he said, shutting the bathroom door. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “I brought your ring back--”

“Brock,” she scolded.

“Just put the ring on and hit me in the face,” he said. “You’ll feel better.” She sighed.

“You think I want to hit you in the face?” Darcy said. She blinked under the water, feeling oddly overwhelmed. “I don’t want to hit you in the face. We’re adults!”

“Oh,” he said. They lapsed into silence. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I have to let this conditioner process for ten minutes,” she told him. “It’s the Ion copycat of Olaplex.”

“What?” he said.

“It’s something you add to hair color to make it gentler on your hair,” she explained. “Then you seal it with a ten-minute conditioning treatment,” she added.

“Oh,” he said. She heard him sit down. “I miss you,” he said quietly. She was half-tempted to snark back at him. Instead she was quiet for a minute.

“Why?” Darcy said.

“Huh?” Brock said.

“Tell me what you miss,” she said. That ought to be a test of his real feelings. He sighed.

“I fucking hate being alone now,” he said. “I want you around, talking and picking out what’s on the damn TV. I miss the sound of your voice and all your music.”

“Not just the sex, huh?” Darcy snarked.

“I miss the kissing,” he said in a low voice. _Oh God,_ she thought. His voice had been soft. Darcy turned off the water. 

“Can you hand me that towel?” she asked, feeling wildly vulnerable. She was half-blind, naked, and drippy. He passed her the towel as she stood behind the shower curtain. As she stepped out, towel around her torso, he cupped her elbow.

“Careful, careful,” he said.

“I’m more careful than you are,” she said, turning to face him. She still couldn’t gauge his expression. 

“I know,” he said. He put her glasses on gently. 

“Brock,” she said, when he resolved into non-blurriness behind her lenses. He was looking at her intently.

“Here,” he said, fishing her engagement ring out of his pants pocket. “Just, uh, smack me if you want?”

“I don’t want to hit you,” Darcy said, acutely conscious of how unglamorous she looked. Water was running down her back, arms, and neck. He slipped the ring on her finger again. “I just want--” she stopped.

“What?” he said. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said, irritated. “Sometimes, I want to pretend it never happened, sometimes I want to run you over with my car.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Why don’t we do that?”

“What?” Darcy said.

“I’ll take you to dinner tonight and then after dessert, you can back over me in the parking lot?” he offered. Then he turned softer. “Or we could have dinner here?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said, torn at his hopeful voice. “I need to get dry. Check my hair.”

“It looks great,” he said.

“I look drowned,” she said back. She could faintly see her reflection in the foggy mirror. He shook his head.

“I’ll wait in the living room,” Brock said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. He had his hand on the door when he turned back. 

“Don’t leave me,” Brock said. 

A few minutes later, Natasha knocked. “Is everything okay?” she asked. Darcy had put on her bathrobe and opened the door. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She lowered her voice. “Is he still here?”

“He wants to take you to dinner,” Nat said. “Should I make him leave?”

“No,” Darcy said, “I’ll go. We’ll talk about things.”

“Okay,” Nat said. “Do you need me to bring you anything else?”

“Nope. Thank you, though.” Impulsively, she hugged Nat. For a second, the Russian seemed surprised, but then she hugged back.

“If you don’t want me to leave you with him I can stay?” she asked quietly.

“I can handle him,” Darcy said firmly. Nat smiled.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll make you that hair appointment. The color looks good.”

“Thank you,” Darcy repeated. She listened as Natasha left and then continued to diffuse her hair. When Darcy emerged into her bedroom with freshly dyed curls, a spritz of Cashmere Mist, and makeup on, Brock was sitting on her bed. 

“Hey,” he said, alert. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” she said, more stiffly. She didn’t know what to do. He looked at her. There was an awkward silence.

“I got you clothes,” he said. She realized he’d lain out a pair of her favorite leggings, an oversized red sweater, and a pair of her fun socks. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Those look comfortable.” He’d even put out a comfortable bra and a pair of her cotton underwear. None of it was any of the sexy, showy stuff. Weird, she thought. 

“You want a hand?” he offered.

“You want to help me get dressed?” Darcy asked. Brock nodded. His expression was serious. “That’s fine,” she said, puzzled. She sat down on the bed and put the underwear on, shedding her robe in the process. He helped her get her bra over her head. They were both quiet. He dropped a light kiss on her shoulder. 

“Hair’s pretty,” he said.

“Thank you,” she repeated, glancing at him. They stared at each other for a moment. He passed her the red sweater. Darcy pulled it over her head and then got her feet into the leggings. She had them around her knees when he stopped her and rubbed her thigh.

“Do you want me to, uh, do anything for you?” he said, pausing.

“Like what?” Darcy said, confused.

“Make you feel good?” he said. It dawned on her when he slid off the bed and moved in front of her.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. “You cannot seriously want to go down on me right now.”

“Why not?” he said, frowning. “Baby, I want to. I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Brock Rumlow is hot and dumb.
> 
> Obligatory fashion notes:
> 
> I'm envisioning a chunky, gorgeous scarf like this. So pretty! https://www.etsy.com/listing/178593662/botticelli-red-scarf-ultra-thick-boho?ref=search_recently_viewed-10&frs=1


	15. Commitment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! First fic update of 2021!

“Oh God,” Darcy moaned, arching her back. “You’re so g-good at this,” she got out, breath hitching, “you--you complete idiot!” She couldn’t hide the shudder that ran through her body. Her thighs were trembling. Brock looked up with a smirk, licking his lips.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he said, hands gripping her hips. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said, sighing. Her chest rose and fell. “I’m okay.”

“You wanna go again?” he asked. This was their third or fourth round. She’d sort of lost count.

“Give me a minute,” Darcy said. She was still shaking a little. She closed her eyes until he spoke.

“I’m an idiot, huh?” he said. He was grinning. “You’re not wrong.”

“Complete idiot,” she told him, tilting her chin down. “I don’t even know why I haven’t thrown you out of here.” He smirked at her, eyes alight.

“Eh, I deserve it,” he said, making a face, “but you shouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, no?” Darcy said, trying to keep her voice arch and not weak and dopey with pleasure.

“No, baby,” he said, voice throaty. “You’re having fun, right?” He pressed his thumbs into her hips, massaging gently. “I want you to have fun,” he said, more quietly. He dropped a kiss onto her bellybutton and leaned his cheek against her stomach, as if she was a pillow.

“What else do you want?” Darcy wondered. He looked up at her, still resting his head on her stomach. His expression was serious--and strangely gentle.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said warmly, “as long as you’re happy, okay?”

“Mmmm,” Darcy said. A muscle spasm shook her leg and he held her knee gently. 

* * *

“Here,” Brock said, a half hour later, as he slid her sweater over her head gently. He was helping her get ready for dinner. “You sure you don’t want delivery? We can stay in, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “No, we’ll go. Where are we going?” She felt a little dazed. He’d seemed to find it funny that she’d started snoring as he cleaned her up. 

“I’ve got a place,” Brock said. “Where’s your little hat?”

“My hat?” Darcy said.

“Your little present hat,” Brock said. “Goes with your scarf.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “It’s hanging on my hat rack on the closet door.” He got up and went into her walk-in. She looked at her reflection in the dresser mirror and patted down her hair. It had gotten a little mussed. “I’m sorry I kicked you,” she said to Brock. She’d had a muscle spasm and kneed him in the shoulder.

“I deserved it,” he said, leaning around the closet door. He was grinning at her. “You want Thai, baby?”

“Okay,” Darcy said. He kept up a line of conversation as she finished getting ready and they left the apartment. He squeezed her shoulders as he walked her to the passenger side of the car. “Thank you,” she repeated as he opened the door. He glanced her way as he drove across DC.

“Talk to me?” Brock asked. “You’re too quiet.”

“Uhh--” Darcy said. “I don’t know what you want me to say?”

“Anything,” he said.

“I’m still mad at you,” Darcy said. “This doesn’t make up for it.”

“Okay,” he said. He flicked his turn signal. “You can still punch me?”

“Oh my God, stop that. We’re not little kids. Violence is not the answer,” Darcy sassed back. She looked at him and shook her head. “You need to learn grown up life skills. You’re twenty years older than me! Too old to be so immature,” she muttered.

“Fuck,” Brock said. “That clipped my chin.” He sounded amused. “You’re, uh, not wrong?” he added. “People have suggested it before.”

“Don’t say her name,” Darcy said. “I’m so sick of hearing her name. _Miranda, Miranda, Miranda.”_

“It was actually Jack,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, whatever. I feel like I’m dating the world’s oldest frat boy. Frat Grandpa.”

“Ouch,” he said, chuckling. He inhaled. “Okay. Tell Frat Grandpa else what to do.”

“Don’t ever talk about me like that again,” Darcy said. “Ever.” She ticked things off on her finger. “That’s one.”

“Okay.”

“Two, you’re dating me. Would it kill you not to compare everything I do to your ex?” Darcy said. “I’m fine with you having a good relationship with her, it’s just frustrating to feel like everything I do is somehow measured on The Miranda Scale.”

“The Miranda Scale?” he said dryly. 

“Don’t laugh,” Darcy ordered.

“I’m not laughing,” he said. “I talk about you, too”--he caught her dark look-- “in a normal way, I swear.” He held his hands up in surrender; they were stopped at a red light.

“How?” Darcy asked.

“Yesterday, I made Hernandez play some Marian Hill in the gym because you said you liked it,” he said.

“Oh. That’s...adequate,” Darcy said. 

“I liked her,” he said. “It’s good music.”

“It’s actually a duo. A man and a woman,” she told him. 

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t know at first, either,” she said.

“Anything else?” he said.

“I don’t know, I’m sure I’ll think of something,” she said. He smirked. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not---I like this side of you,” he said calmly. “You can tell me what to do anytime, sweetheart.”

“Frat Grandpa,” Darcy muttered, as they pulled into a parking space in front of the Thai restaurant. “I feel like you’re not taking this seriously, if you’re making jokes about me bossing you around.” She unbuckled her seatbelt.

“I am,” he insisted.

“Well, okay,” she said, looking at him directly. “What do you want? Spill it.”

“I want us to live together,” he said, opening his car door. “Everything’s better when you’re around.”

“Oh,” she said. He’d said it sincerely.

“I mean it,” he said.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “I’ll think about it.”

“And maybe one day, we have a little wedding,” Brock said. “Civil ceremony, something like that. While my mother’s still alive to see it.”

“Wh-what?” Darcy said.

“It doesn’t have to be legally binding,” he said, getting out of the car. “It can just be a commitment thing.”

“A commitment thing?” Darcy said, thinking _what is happening?_

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I’m not talking soon. A year, two years, whatever.”

“Okay,” Darcy said slowly. She got out of the car and met him at the restaurant door. _“You_ want to have a commitment ceremony?” She couldn’t help stressing the first word.

“You don’t gotta say it like that,” he said. He shepherded her into the restaurant’s lobby. He asked the hostess for a table for two. They were sitting down when he spoke again. “Besides,” Brock said. “The more I think about it, the more it sounds fun. We’d be doing something cool.”

“What?” Darcy said, stunned.

“Yeah,” he said, “modern, you know? Have a little thing on a beach or a civil thing, really laidback. Not religious.” He picked up a restaurant menu. “I’m not into religion--church stuff. Ma is, though. But I never really understood that shit.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Sure. Yeah.” She studied her menu, feeling completely baffled, then looked over the edge of the plastic-sheathed paper. “You want to be committed to me?” she asked him. “In a non-legally binding, largely symbolic ceremony in a year or two from now?” 

“Yeah,” he said, “you want some shrimp?”

“I don’t--shrimp?” she said. 

“You like shrimp, right?” Brock said. “These black pepper shrimp?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. 

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“I’m still processing!” Darcy said. “You do this really hurtful, upsetting thing, then you apologize with sex and flowers and a scarf and start talking about a commitment ceremony on a beach? Are you trying to placate me or something? Do you think this is something I want?”

“No, no,” he said. “It’s just an idea I had. You know”--he gestured-- “people keep asking about wedding plans and uh, telling me stories about how they eloped to Hawaii or the Bahamas or whatever. I just had this idea of the two of us doing something like that.” He was making a funny face. “Later on. Someday. Someplace warm.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, trying not to laugh at his chagrined expression. “So, it’s really more of a vacation?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding and rubbing his chin. “I guess so?”

“With lots of sex?” she said archly. She waggled her eyebrows. 

“You’re fucking with me,” he said, grinning briefly and then frowning again. 

“Maybe,” she said, biting her lip. 

“I upset you, talking about it?” he asked. Darcy shook her head.

“No,” she said. Then she had a thought. “Why did you pick out a scarf to match my hat and get out my old clothes tonight?” she asked him. Brock gave her an ambiguous look. 

“I wanted you to be comfortable,” he said. “Be yourself. No more trying to impress anybody, okay? We’re just gonna be ourselves. Do things that feel like us.”

“I was always being myself,” Darcy said. “Just slightly better dressed.” It was mostly true. Somewhat.

“I fucked up,” he told her, sighing. 

“I know,” she said. Brock gazed at her with another of those unreadable expressions. He opened and closed his mouth. “What?” Darcy said.

“You’re better anchored than me,” he said slowly. “Emotionally.” They were interrupted by a waiter. After they ordered, she looked at him. 

“Anchored?” Darcy said.

“Stable,” he said. “Grounded. You’ve got a good personality. You don’t--you don’t do stupid, reckless things when you’re upset.” He cleared his throat. “When you’re upset with me, you tell me, you’re open.”

“Brock, I threw a pan of brownies and an engagement ring at you,” Darcy said. 

“But you missed me,” he pointed out. “You were pretty upfront about everything.” Darcy couldn’t help it: she burst out laughing.

“Upfront?” she said. “I dragged Tony Stark into a drunken confrontation at your workplace over a pair of expensive earrings. Do you not remember that?”

“It’s gonna make a great story one day,” he insisted. 

“I’m sure Tony’s already making it a great story,” Darcy said wryly. “I can’t believe that you think I’m grounded.”

“You are,” he said. “You are.” They were eating when he looked at her. “We love each other,” Brock said suddenly. “People don’t lose their minds when they’re not in love.”

“I’ve lost my mind?” Darcy said. 

“No, no. That was a figure of speech. You were upset about earrings, I’m running around SHIELD behaving like a fucking teenage moron bragging about his girl. This is love, baby,” he said, leaning forward. 

“You admit that you were behaving like a moron?” she said.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, nodding. His expression was serious. “I fucked up and I’m sorry.”

“But it’s because you love me?” Darcy said, grinning. He was so emotionally stunted, she thought. It was strangely funny in the moment.

“I express things in screwed up ways,” Brock said, grimacing. She nodded. “I wish I was more like you, sweetheart.”

“Like me?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Me doesn’t want a wedding or babies,” she told him. “I don’t want the typical things you’re supposed to want, the wife stuff. I like my life the way it is. I like working for Jane. I want a little dog, not kids.”

“I’m not gonna pressure you for kids, I promise,” Brock said. “Just let me hang around and I’ll take out the trash or something.” She looked at him. He looked hopeful. There was a weighted silence. “What do you want to do?” he asked.

“I think that actually sounds like a decent start,” Darcy said softly. “Let’s just hang out together. No Miranda and no gross commentary, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll give you a drawer and a toothbrush on a probationary basis,” she told him. He grinned. She had a key ready for him, but she didn't want him to gloat. 

* * *

Back at her apartment, Darcy was putting pajamas on while Brock took a shower before bed. “Hey, baby,” Brock said.

“Yeah?” Darcy said. 

“Can I still buy you stuff?” 

“Brock!”

“What?” he said, sticking his head around the shower curtain. He pouted. “That’s who I am, sweetheart,” he said. “I like giving you things.”

“That is a trick,” Darcy muttered. “Dirty trick.” Brock laughed. He was barely dry when he clamored into bed with her, smothering her in kisses.

“Darcy,” he said.

“Yes?”

“I want you. Just you,” he said intensely. “Being yourself.”

“Even my favorite grubby sweaters and my Fair Isle?” she asked. He grimaced.

“The Fair Isle?” he repeated. She nodded. His grimace turned into a sly grin. “Eh, maybe if you just wear the sweater by itself, that might help me with this little block I've got…”

“Nope,” Darcy said. “No sweater sex for you tonight.”

“No?” he said, making a face.

“I’m all sexed out and it’s caramel week on Bake Off,” she said, holding the TV remote up. She thought he would sulk, but he was actually agreeable and didn’t pressure her. Instead, he watched the screen and slung one arm around her.

“Why is that fucker so orange?” Brock wondered. Darcy snorted. “What? He looks like teak furniture.”

“Paul Hollywood, Teak Furniture Judge,” Darcy said, giggling.

“He really fucking does,” Brock said. She took pity on him in the middle of a _stroopwafel_ challenge. “You changed your mind?” he said, as she kissed him..

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, nodding seriously. “I’m letting you stroop my waffle.” He snorted.

* * *

“What the hell is that?” Brock muttered sleepily. Darcy’s snooze button alarm had gone off. She silenced it.

“I’ve got places to be,” she told him. She was going to a flea market with Roger. 

“You’re leaving?” he said, grimacing. “It’s dark.”

“Yup,” she said, leaning over him with a grin. She kissed him lightly.

“You’re already dressed,” Brock said, frowning. His eyes had gone to her clothes.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Hang out, make yourself some breakfast. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but you can stay as long as you want? I left you a key in the kitchen.”

“I can stay?” he called out as she left the bedroom. “You left me a key?”

“Yup!” Darcy said. She picked up the tray of coffees she’d made already. 

“I miss you,” he called out.

“I haven’t left yet!” Darcy said. Then she locked the door behind her and met Roger in his SUV. “Good morning, I brought coffee. The third cup is half and half, and there’s sugar and Splenda,” she told him.

“You are a very charming woman,” Roger said. He poured a little half and half into his cup. “I see Brock’s vehicle is here. I thought he was in trouble?”

“I’ve got him on probation,” Darcy said. 

“He probably needs more intensive management to be properly civilized,” Roger said. He looked up at Darcy’s door. “Ah, yes. He appears to be looking out here. While draped in a blanket covered in...what is that?”

“Christmas puppies,” she said. “It’s part of my seasonal decor.”

“Of course.”

“He’s nosy,” Darcy said, sipping her coffee. “He better not get my blanket dirty.” She waved at Brock. He grinned back at her, leaning against the doorframe.

“He wants me to surprise you with art,” Roger said. “Apparently, it was part of his apology tour.”

“Which art?” Darcy asked, curious.

“I hadn’t decided. Do you have any preferences?” Roger asked.

“Um, I really like this artist named Elizabeth St. Hilaire,” Darcy said. “She does collage. If he gives you money for anything, I’d love one of her collages.”

“I’m writing it down,” Roger said. 

She noticed Brock was watching them as they drove away.

* * *

“I dunno what kind of vanity I want,” Darcy said, trekking around the flea market with Roger. She’d already picked up a paper and bamboo parasol for twenty dollars, both to block the sun and because it reminded her of Phryne Fisher. It would look cute in her apartment. She felt very decorative swishing it around above her head.

“You want the round mirror,” Roger said. They’d seen two or three vanities, but none of them were right.

“I do,” Darcy admitted. “I don’t know why, but the round mirrors are my favorite.”

“Round shapes are psychologically more pleasant,” he said. “There have been studies that suggest harsh angles make people nervous on a subconscious level. We’re talking about glass, ergo, you want the roundest, least angular mirror because you like comfort. You don’t want the abrasive choice.”

“Ohhh,” Darcy said. “Really?”

“Some people want the abrasive choice,” he said. “Either they like the slight tension it creates personally or it’s a kind of show for them--a very modernist angular home is an advertisement for a certain set of values. It says you’re educated, you’re willing to spend money, and you don’t really care for your guests’ comfort.” Darcy hmm'd thoughtfully.

“Is everything in Design Within Reach catalogue as uncomfortable as it looks, then?” she asked.

“Not everything,” he said. “But those narrow dining chairs really pinch your ass.” Darcy burst out laughing. They were walking around when she spotted something of interest hanging in stall. It wasn’t a vanity.

“Ohhhhh,” Darcy said, hurrying over. “I need this cardigan.” It was brightly patterned squares. Even more colorful than her Fair Isle cardigan.

“Granny squares?” Roger said.

“Brock hates my crazy sweaters,” Darcy said, giggling. “But he _says_ he wants me to be myself.”

“In that case, I approve,” Roger said. “Would you like the ones with the purple background?” They debated various lengths and colors and talked to the stall’s owner before Darcy decided on a sweater.

“You look very cute in that,” she told Darcy.

“I love it,” Darcy said. “They’re such happy little squares.” She and Roger were at a booth with old glass bottles when she worked up the nerve to ask about Brock. “What did you mean when you said Brock needed civilizing?” she said. She was maybe getting some decorations for her hypothetical future vanity.

“He’s impulsive, emotional, temperamental…” Roger said, squinting at a champagne coupé. 

“Yeah?” Darcy said.

“As well as incredibly loyal,” he added, sighing. “I tell Jack I don’t want to hear work stories that will add to my anxiety, but I know Brock has saved his life several times.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said, nodding.

“It’s mildly annoying to owe your marital happiness to man who dresses himself as a Cheeto,” Roger said. Darcy laughed. “But I know he means well,” Roger added dryly. “I’m very sorry he decided to indulge in his neanderthal tendencies at your expense. Unfortunately, SHIELD culture can exacerbate that kind of thing. I think they all try to outdo one another.”

“Jack’s not like that, though,” Darcy pointed out. 

“True. However, he was pretending to be American for his first several years, so he didn’t talk much,” Roger admitted. “He developed an array of terrifying facial expressions as cover. Possibly, that impacted his current workplace persona.”

“I’m not letting Brock off the hook so easily,” Darcy said.

“Really?” Roger said curiously.

“Nope,” she said. “I’ve made demands.”

“Demands?” Roger said. “This is interesting.” He passed her an empty perfume bottle with a winged stopper.

“He’s never going to talk about me like that again. Also, stop saying _Miranda Miranda Miranda,”_ Darcy said. “Those are my conditions.”

“Well, that will be a blessing for all of us,” Roger said slyly. 

“He wants to have a commitment ceremony,” Darcy confessed. “On a beach. Someday.”

“A commitment ceremony?” Roger said incredulously. “Brock wants to have a commitment ceremony?”

“Well, I assume it was Brock. It looked like Brock. It sounded like Brock. It could be an alien. How can I tell?” she said, grinning. 

“I’ll ask Jack,” Roger said. “There may be a test.”

“Jane may have useful input, too,” Darcy said.

“Do we know what happened on that last mission?” Roger said.

* * *

“Babe, I went crazy,” Darcy announced to Brock when she walked in. He was sitting on the couch and looked over at her with a smile. “I didn’t find a vanity, but I got all these cool things--did you clean the kitchen?” Darcy said, peering into the room.

“I just cleaned up a little after I got back from the gym. I like to, uh, clean,” he said, coming over to kiss her. She looked up at him with a smile.

“Okay, you’re hired,” she told him. 

“What’d you get?” he said. She had it all in a reusable tote that she’d plonked on the floor. She reached into the bag. 

“This parasol, very pretty, does this,” she said, opening and closing the paper. “Whooo, fancy, right?” she asked, swinging it over one shoulder. “Very glamorous, if you’ve gotta go outside.”

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Also, I found these old perfume bottles, I like them a lot,” Darcy said. “L'Air du Temps and Shalimar, I’m gonna use them for more pretty decorations on the vanity. This one's Lalique crystal.”

“You use my card?” he said, turning the Shalimar bottle around in his hands.

“Just for one thing,” she said wickedly. “The rest were cash.” She reached into the bag. “You bought me this beautiful sweater.” She held up the granny square cardigan.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s uh, very colorful, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said mirthfully. He hated it, she could tell. But he was on his best behavior. He’d cleaned the kitchen! It was delightfully bizarre. “I’m only home for a little while, I’m supposed to be meeting Natasha,” she said.

“You’re leaving?” he said, putting the bottle down. “Where are you going?”

“It’s a surprise. You wanna take a shower with me?” she asked. She straightened his t-shirt collar. “I need to cowash my hair.”

“Yeah,” he said. “What?”

“Conditioner wash,” she said, taking his hand. “You can get me all naked and soapy.”

“Yeah,” he said, lighting up a little.

“And then you have the whole afternoon to watch sports or whatever,” she added. He was looking at her with an odd expression. “Nothing weird happened on that last mission, right?” Darcy said, leading him towards the bedroom.

“Huh?” he said. “No.”

* * *

Brock was sitting at a cafe table, looking around and checking his watch, when a figure slid into the chair opposite him. “Romanoff?” he said, frowning.

“Who are you meeting here?” she asked.

“What?” he said. The waiter came over and Romanoff ordered a water, then turned her attention back to him. “Nobody,” he said.

“Darcy needs time,” she said. Rumlow sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “You need to let her be mad at you,” she told him. “Let her come to her own decisions. So, if you’re planning something elaborate…”

“I’m not good at that,” he said. “Letting stuff happen. I want to, uh, try to mitigate my mistakes.” He looked over Romanoff’s shoulder towards the middle distance. 

“I’m hearing about weddings,” she said. “You know anything about that?” His expression went still. Natasha studied him for a moment. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve got a guy meeting me here with some rings. The diamond guy from that mission in August,” Brock said. “I called him when she left. Where is she?”

“I see,” Natasha said, ignoring his question. “An apology ring or an engagement ring?”

“Apology ring, new engagement ring, whatever she wants to call it,” he said.

“You really want to marry Darcy?” she asked.

“She’s not interested in getting married,” Brock said. “Or kids.” He sighed. 

“And this bothers you?” Natasha asked.

“No,” he said. “I mean, if she wanted a big damn wedding, I’d give her one, but she doesn’t really want one.” He rubbed his jaw. “She just wants a little dog.”

“A dog,” Natasha repeated slowly. “Not a wedding?” He nodded. 

“We’re compatible, you understand?” he said. “Similar goals. She’s--I could see a future. A real one.”

“Yes,” Natasha said. There was a tiny change in her expression. He sat up straighter.

“You fucking knew that, didn’t you? That she didn’t want kids, when you set this up?” Brock said. 

“Possibly,” Natasha said. The corners of her mouth turned up.

“Goddammit,” he muttered. “You throw the perfect fucking girl at me and don’t even warn me?”

“If I’d warned you, you would have resisted,” Natasha told him. 

“Yeah,” he said. He smiled, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“You’re in love with Darcy,” Natasha said. He didn’t disagree. “She’s going to be home late,” she added.

“What’s she doing? You better not be setting her up on a blind date with some asshole,” Brock said. “I will fucking end him--”

“Calm down, idiot,” Natasha said. “She’s having her hair done.”

“Oh,” he said. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Natasha said. She sipped her water and tilted her head. “Funny that she doesn’t want kids, but she’s fine with you, a tall child.”

“Very fucking funny,” he said.

“A petulant tall child,” she revised. “What were you thinking?”

“I fucked up. I was thinking with my dick,” he said.

“Charming.”

“You asked me,” he said. “What does she want, Romanoff?”

“She wants what everyone wants—a partner, Brock. A good person.”

“That’s not specific enough,” he grumbled.

“Someone who supports her interest in novelty cereal for children and vintage hairstyles,” she said. “Probably.” The diamond guy arrived with a bag. He looked nervous.

“This is highly irregular,” he announced.

“Agent Romanoff is the best bodyguard in the business,” Brock said slyly. He glanced at the redhead. “Help me out here. It’d be nice to have a second set of eyes.”

“All right,” she said.

“We have a range of Art Deco options,” he said. “You said you were interested in a filigree dinner ring?”

“Big ring, little stones,” Brock said. He looked at Natasha. “She likes that kind of thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory fashion notes:
> 
> Granny square cardigans seem very Darcy.  
> 
> 
> Funnily enough, Dolce & Gabbana did a whole granny square collection. Glam granny squares! https://www.pinterest.com/pin/93097917286420337/
> 
> Art deco dinner ring examples: https://www.marketsquarejewelers.com/collections/dinner-rings
> 
> A vintage Shalimar bottle:


	16. Brock Rumlow Has A Problem With Malls....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Happy New Year!

Darcy arrived at the hair salon after running a few errands for Jane. It looked like a nice salon: pale wood, graffiti-inspired art, and angular furniture. “Hello,” she told the woman at the counter. “I’m here for the five o’clock with Adrian.” The woman looked her up and down, eyes lingering on Darcy’s granny squares. 

“Have a seat,” she said coldly. 

“Okay,” Darcy said lightly. It was a granny square sweater, she thought snarkily, not an _I heart serial killers_ t-shirt. She glanced around at the salon and other clients. It dawned on her that everyone here would probably be into that kind of snark. She just wasn’t cool enough. The staff had visible chest tats, mullets, and bored looks. She wasn’t dressed right for the culture. And no one was smiling. That was weird. They weren’t even joking with each other. She had assumed this would be a chill, not stuffy salon; now she was a smidge nervous. But who knew a place that had this ratio of tattoos to stylists would be uptight?! She decided to text Jane as a distraction.

 _I got your cereal,_ she typed. _Waiting at the salon. Tell Loki I’m sorry they’re out of holiday red and green Capt’n Crunch and not to stab Thor too many times or lead Groot into mischief..._

Jane had sent her a long email detailing Thor and Loki’s most recent fight over cereal custody. It was mostly one-sided, but Darcy really needed to portal them more cereal. She’d bought six boxes at the store. Also, Rocket was mad because Loki had convinced Groot to steal some equipment. It wasn't that Rocket was opposed to stealing, obviously. It was just that the two of them had conspired to steal from _him._ Darcy thought Loki might like Groot because his foliage was so green. The Asgardian loved green.

* * *

“Eh,” Brock sighed out. He sat down the delicate ring he’d been holding. “I can’t fucking decide. What do you think?” he asked Natasha. She smiled like a cat. 

“Well, obviously, you like that one. It’s the third time you’ve picked it up,” she said. His favorite was a small blue stone surrounded by a frame of diamonds. The blue looked almost violet, it was such a beautiful color. He nodded, then looked at the jeweler’s tray. “Or have I fucked up enough that I ought to go with something bigger, like this?” he asked, holding up another option. It was a massive sapphire, onyx, and diamond ring. The center stone was a round diamond, but it was the elaborate frame of alternating onyx and sapphire bands that really drew the eye. 

“That is from the Beverley K line of deco-inspired modern rings,” the jeweler said. “The onyx and sapphire is a very dramatic choice.” 

“But would she like it?” he asked. He looked at Natasha questioningly. Across the table, the jeweler fidgeted and tried to surreptitiously check his watch. “Or is it too fucking big?” Brock wondered. 

“It seems...large for Darcy,” Nat said slowly.

“Yeah,” Brock said, huffing. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I think you’re overthinking this,” Natasha told him quietly. He sighed. 

“Yeah,” Brock admitted. He rubbed his scarred jaw.

“What do you want this gift to do, exactly?” Nat asked.

“I want it to, uh, make her feel good,” Brock said, tapping his free hand on the table top. “Have more fun, you know? She’s already happy, but I mean, uh, like she doesn’t have to worry about things.” He made a face. “I’m not explaining it right. You know how it is when you’ve got enough money to screw around with, that’s a good feeling.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Nat said. “Like things aren’t stressful.”

“Yeah,” he said. He looked at the two rings again. “The simple one is more her.” The jeweler’s eagerness for him to make a decision was almost palpable. Brock looked at him. “I can’t fucking decide. I’m sorry. I’ll have to bring her by, let her choose her own present. Lemme tip you for your trouble,” he said to the jeweler. “Don’t laugh at me, Romanoff.”

“You don’t want a ring?” the jeweler said, clearly astonished. Natasha grinned. Brock stopped.

“Shit, you’re disappointed,” he said.

“It’s December twenty-second,” the jeweler said. “I’m a very busy man.” Natasha tilted her head and sipped from her straw. Brock was blinking. He looked at the rings again.

“What the hell, I’ll get this one,” Brock said, choosing the simpler thing. “This is the right one, right?” He looked at Nat. “Wait, don’t say anything,” he said. “I’m going with my own fucking instinct this time. Can you resize this by Christmas?” he asked the jeweler.

“Yes,” the man said, sighing. “If you let me leave now. There will be a fee, of course.”

“Maybe I can get her a pair of earrings, if you’ve got anything that matches,” Brock said.

“I’m sure we can find something,” the man said, standing up. “When you pick up the ring tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Brock said.

“You know,” Nat said, as they left the cafe, “if you want to have fun with Darcy, there are lots of things you can do. Museums, cooking, music—you don’t just have to buy jewelry all the time. You could cook with her or go to concerts. She’d like that, I think. And she likes books and other things.” Brock looked at her seriously for a long moment.

“Shit,” he said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I have no idea,” Nat said dryly. 

“I can make her penne with pink sauce for dinner tonight,” he said. At Nat’s look, he continued, “some people call it Parma Rosa sauce. It’s marinara with cream. She’ll love it.”

“Good idea,” Nat said. “Very sensible.”

“You know any books or music she’d like?” Brock said. “Where’s a fucking bookstore?”

“You want to go now?” she said.

“Yeah.”

* * *

Darcy read multiple articles on her phone, listened to some She & Him Christmas music, and browsed for a little gift for Brock before her haircut. She’d bought them both Christmas stockings and wanted to put some fun socks in his stocking. She was contemplating middle finger socks, in tribute to their first meeting. “Adrian will see you now,” an assistant said to Darcy. 

“Great,” she said standing up. She was actually a little stiff from sitting still. 

“We take a before selfie for our social media,” the assistant said. 

“Sure,” Darcy said, as they walked. She positioned Darcy against a blank wall with a light and snapped a few photos. After that was done, Darcy was led to a shampoo bowl and the shampoo person washed her hair, frowning the entire time. _Maybe nobody smiles here,_ she thought. She was brought to Adrian. The stylist was wearing all black. Even his rectangular glasses had black frames. He did look cool, she thought. He had an arm sleeve that looked like it was all koi fish in beautiful shades of orange and blue. “That’s a great tattoo,” she said. 

“Mmm-hmm,” he said. He was intently looking at her in the mirror. He scrunched her hair. “You’ve got lots of natural texture,” he said. “Amazing texture.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “I was thinking about something retro. I like those old-fashioned middy cuts where the back has a u-shape, you know?” She could take out her phone, she thought. “I wanted something more stylish than just plain long hair. Something with a shape and personality. A real style.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said. “What are your feelings about bangs?”

“I love them,” Darcy said. Jane could say whatever she wanted about Darcy’s bangs-related flakiness, but she did love them. It was accurate.

“I have an idea for something so retro, it’s gonna thrill you,” Adrian said. “And you’ll have the easiest styling time in the world, babe.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. They were playing vaguely seventies music. She liked that. She thought she recognized Sean Hayes’ “Baby, I Do.”

* * *

“Did you know Brock Rumlow has a shopping addiction?” Natasha asked Clint Barton over the telephone. She was sitting in a bookstore cafe as he stalked the shelves. The bookstore was full of holiday shoppers. Natasha liked to watch people smile as the gift wrapper handed over their wrapped books. Rumlow was speed-shopping, trying to get something before Darcy got out of her hair appointment. 

“You’re fucking kidding me, Tasha.” Clint’s voice was skeptical. She had caught him working on the tractor in Iowa.

“I am not,” she said. She tilted her head and looked at the pile on her table. “He’s buying her a book on champagne drinks called _Let’s Get Fizzical_ and a book about flappers,” she said. Clint laughed. 

“That sounds like Darce,” he said, clearly straining to lift something.

“Be careful,” she scolded.

“I’m being careful. Can’t imagine them as a couple,” Clint said, grunting. “Hold on--you set them up, didn’t you?” There was a thunk on the other side of the phone. “What are you playing at?” he asked.

“What does that mean?” Nat said. Rumlow appeared, carrying several books.

“You know what it means--the man’s a good agent, but he’s not exactly relationship material,” Clint scoffed.

“Uh-huh,” she said in an amused voice. Rumlow set the books down on the table and looked at her quizzically. “Barton thinks you’re not relationship material,” she told him.

“Shit, don’t tell him that,” Clint said. “He’ll shoot me.”

“I don’t want to date Barton,” Brock said. “I’m getting her a book on vintage cakes, this _Mastering the Art of French Eating_ thing, and those.”

“He doesn’t want to date you,” Nat said.

“Now he’s just hurting my feelings,” Clint said. “How many books is he buying her?”

“Best not to ask,” Nat said, following Brock to the register. “You should gift wrap these,” she told him.

“Sure, yeah,” he said.

* * *

“We’re gonna diffuse your waves, babe,” Adrian announced. “And then I’m gonna refine your bangs.” He gestured to an assistant, stowing away the razor in his hand.

“Okay,” Darcy said. Her bangs seemed a little long. She could see them hanging in her eyes. She had to admit, he’d cut her hair with painstaking slowness, however. And she didn’t seem to have lost all that much length. He’d gone in with scissors and then an open razor blade like he was a gang member in a fifties movie, slicing and threading through her ends. Now he and the assistant held diffusers to her head. Adrian paused to spritz something on her crown.

“You’ve got a diffuser?” he said. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “I co-wash and all that stuff.”

“I’m using a sea salt spray,” he said. “This is the best stuff for hair like yours. This company’s all natural, really great.” He scrunched her hair aggressively. “Jamie, get that diffuser against the hair,” he said. “You do low heat, it doesn’t damage the hair.” Darcy nodded. “But you’ll be able to air dry this cut,” Adrian said. “You’ll love it. All my clients love this cut.”

“All your clients?” Darcy said.

“All my cool clients,” he said. “I’m from Riverside. DC is behind the times. I’ve had to get all my clients out of helmet hair, babe. Get a little movement in the hair. That’s much cooler.”

“Oh,” she said, not following. Jamie held the diffuser to her head without talking. Adrian passed off his dryer and whipped out the razor again. Darcy had to close her eyes as he worked on her bangs, razor glinting. 

“Who’s got my bang shield?” Adrian asked. A moment later, a tinted screen went over her eyes.

* * *

“This is good,” Brock said, more to himself than Natasha as they crossed the parking lot together. They’d waited in a long gift wrapping line. “You’ve got good ideas, Romanoff. These’ll be good for Christmas presents. Books and that ring,” he said. 

“Uh-huh,” she said, knowing he’d already bought Darcy several pieces of jewelry recently. They were putting the books in his car. 

“I wonder what else I can do,” he mused, shutting the books in the back of the car.

“For presents?” she said, astonished.

“No, no,” he said. “Dessert. I gotta figure out dessert. I wonder if Roger’s home?” Abruptly, he hugged Natasha.

“Oh,” she said.

“Thank you,” he told her. "For all your help with--with everything."

“Okay,” she said. It was impossible not to grin a little. She told him goodbye. As she walked to her vehicle, he dialed on his phone. “Behave yourself Rumlow!” Nat called back. He waved. She hoped everything went well between him and Darcy tonight. She really liked it when her matchmaking had a positive result. Also, she didn’t like when Clint questioned her choices. 

* * *

“Look how fabulous you are,” Adrian said, turning Darcy towards the mirror dramatically. She saw her reflection--and her dried hair--for the first time since he’d started working painstakingly on her razored bangs. Her dark hair was full. Voluminous. It seemed like she had double her normal quantity. And lots of bangs. It looked nothing like she’d expected. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. “I look like...Stevie Nicks?” 

“Yes,” he said. “Stevie Nicks meets Brigitte Bardot. Right, Jamie?” He looked to the assistant.

“Yes,” Jamie said. “Very Stevie meets Bardot.”

“These bangs”--Adrian twirled, scrunched, and shaped, so Darcy had to sit perfectly still-- “are gonna grow out so beautifully, too. I have clients who come in two, three times a year.”

“Oh. Okay,” Darcy said. Her reflection looked radically different in the mirror. It was retro, but it wasn’t the retro she’d originally been thinking of. Not at all. There was nothing smooth or tidy about her waves. 

“You just gotta shape them,” Jamie dared to say. Darcy thought this was the first time she’d heard Jamie speak.

“Exactly! You press them back and push them around with a little air,” Adrian said, demonstrating. “There. Rock n’ roll. I’m gonna add a little of this balm, it’s great for textured hair,” he told her. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. 

“This is the best shag,” Adrian announced. 

“It’s a shag?” Darcy said, startled.

“Babe, it’s _the_ shag,” he said. After the cut was finished, they led her back to the blank selfie wall. She smiled, uncertain.

“You look fantastic,” the assistant gushed.

“Thank you,” Darcy said.

“This haircut is soooo great with earrings, too,” she said.

“Oh, hold on. I’ve got earrings in my bag,” Darcy said. She paused to put on her swishy earrings from Brock and reapply her lipstick. At least her earrings could be on social media, she thought.

“Ooooh, perfect. Yeah, you can really rock the chandeliers with a shag,” the assistant said.

  
  


Darcy paid the bill--she’d never spent so much money on a haircut--and went out to her car. Jane answered the videocall on the second ring. “How’d the haircut go?” the scientist asked brightly. Darcy could see her, surrounded by books and tools. 

“There were communication issues,” Darcy said sadly. 

“Oh,” Jane said. She squinted into the screen. “You’ve got bangs. I thought you weren’t getting bangs?”

“I was thinking about Rita Hayworth in _Gilda_ and I ended up with Gilda Radner,” Darcy said in a panicked whisper. She held the phone out so Jane got a full look at the cut. “Look!” she said.

“I’m sure it doesn’t look like that,” Jane insisted.

“You can literally see my hair from space,” Darcy said. “Look at it! I’m Roseannadanna!”

“No,” Jane said. “You’re not. It looks good. Really good!” She sounded desperate. “You know I don’t even like bangs and those are good ba--”

“Jane, I have a shag,” Darcy said, cutting her off. From behind Jane, Rocket appeared. He was carrying Groot. They looked like they’d been fighting. Groot had his little tree arms crossed.

“What’s going on? I hear panic. What’s exploding, Groot won’t tell me any--is Lewis crying?” he said, frowning at Darcy. “Why are you crying, Lewis?” he said.

“She doesn’t like her hair,” Jane said.

“Bleep boop,” Groot said sympathetically, reaching a green limb towards the screen. His round eyes gazed at Darcy. She was not gonna cry. She hoped not. Rocket peered at her suspiciously.

“I--I,” Darcy said, blinking. “I just--it’s a shag. A real, actual shag.”

“Huh. Quill’s gonna like it,” Rocket said. “It’s real retro.”

“Oh God. Wrong thing to say, Rocket!” Jane said.

“You’ve got lots of them hats, though,” Rocket said. When Jane elbowed him, he turned. “What? I’m just saying, if she don’t want nobody to see it--”

“What’s Brock going to say when I get home?” Darcy said, horrified. She hadn’t thought about him seeing it before she got a chance to restyle. “What if he hates it?” she said.

“He’s not going to break up with you over a haircut,” Jane said.

“Have you not seen Reddit?” Darcy said. “He could! People do all the time. This woman’s husband threatened to divorce her when she got highlights. Highlights, Jane!”

“You’re joking?” Rocket said. Darcy shook her head.

“No,” she said sadly. “This guy threw away his girlfriend’s fun socks once.” 

“Her socks?” Rocket said.

“All her fun socks,” Darcy said. “He threw them away and replaced them with black ones.” She shuddered at the memory. It was her primary internet trauma. She’d had a nightmare about Ian destroying her socks after she saw the post. In the nightmare, her macaroni and cheese socks were shredded in the kitchen disposal. 

“If he dumps you over a haircut, tase him,” Jane said bluntly. 

* * *

“All right,” Brock said. “I’ve got the pink sauce going. I just need you to teach me that pear thing you did at that party before Darcy gets home.” He was all set up in Darcy’s kitchen. He’d heard from her by text. He thought he had enough time.

“I thought you were calling about artwork. I cannot teach you to poach pears over the telephone,” Roger said.

“You got a lead on some art?” Brock said, distracted. “Do I peel the pears or what?”

“Do you have cheese?” Roger asked.

“Yeah. I got cheddar and uh, gouda?” he said. “She likes cheese.”

“Great,” Roger said. “Serve fruit and cheese for dessert. Darcy likes Elizabeth St. Hilaire. I’m picking her out a collage.”

“Fruit and cheese for dessert?” Brock repeated incredulously.

“I know you’ve been to Europe with Jack, you must be familiar with the concept of fruit and cheese as a final course. Wait until you’ve eaten this pink sauce, whatever that is--”

“It’s Parma Rosa,” Brock said defensively.

“Of course it is,” Roger said, sighing. “Wait until after dinner, then slice the cheese and the pears. You can work a knife, correct?” Roger asked. 

“Don’t insult me,” Brock grumbled. 

“Do you think Darcy would like a collaged flower or an Italian landscape?” Roger said. “These collages are quite pretty.”

“Italian landscape,” Brock said definitively. “Get her the Italian landscape.”

“You don’t want to see it?” he asked.

“Nope, I trust you,” Brock said. “Where’s my fucking parmesan?” He looked around the kitchen.

“You could always serve slivers of parmesan with fruit, too,” Roger said. “What kind of wine do you have?”

“Prosecco and rosé,” Brock said. “I’m good with wine.”

“Oh forgive me, I forgot,” Roger said dryly. “Jack wants to talk to you.” He passed the phone to the Australian.

“Mate,” Jack said. “I just wanted to tell you that I went around, too. Nobody should say anything about her.” Brock had gone around asking several people not to say anything about Darcy or to Darcy. He’d asked Romanoff for advice on how to handle it. She’d insisted that he needed to explain to his team that he was a fucking moron and that locker room bullshit had almost derailed his relationship. 

“Thanks, brother,” Brock said. “I really appreciate that. Really fucking appreciate it.”

“No worries,” Jack said.

“Romanoff said, uh, that everybody was feeling secondhand terror for me, so they’d probably behave. You get that feeling?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Everybody’s worst nightmare, being caught by their partner being a bloody fool.”

“I was a fucking idiot,” Brock said.

“Too right,” Jack agreed.

“What was I fucking thinking?” Brock said out loud. “Jack, learn a lesson from me--” 

“He doesn’t have to, he has a functioning brain,” Roger said, loudly enough for Brock to hear.

“Sorry, mate,” Jack said. Brock heard his tiny giggle.

“Is he holding out on me with the pear thing?” Brock asked. “Is that some sort of secret recipe he don’t wanna share?”

“Rog,” Jack scolded. “Are you not sharing your bloody recipes like an old woman again? I’ve told you that’s rude. It’s anti-social,” he added, stressing the last word.

“What did he say?” Brock said.

“He fled the kitchen,” Jack said mirthfully. “While making a variety of unpleasant gestures. Why the man wants to bloody hide his recipes, I’ll never know. It’s not like he doesn’t have a bloody career to be proud of, too!” He’d raised his voice loud enough for Roger to hear. “He’s not some oppressed housewife with one good recipe!” Jack shouted.

“Oppressed housewife?” Brock said.

“He keeps making me watch Douglas Sirk movies, mate. The housewife is an oppressed creature,” Jack said into the phone. 

“Who?”

“They’re bloody old movies,” Jack said. “Very colorful.” He sighed. “Sort of gay classics. I can’t get into ‘em, though.”

“Yeah? We should get him and Darcy together for movie night,” Brock said.

“You think she’d sign up for that?” Jack said, sounding hopeful.

“She loves old movies,” Brock said. “She’s all excited about some old movie with a dog that the old movie channel shows on New Year’s. I gave her my cable login.”

 _“The Thin Man,”_ Jack said.

“Maybe,” Brock said, frowning. He stirred his sauce. Was it thick enough?

“That’s the one mate,” Jack said. “Trust me, I know.” 

* * *

“Don’t look at me!” Darcy yelled. She’d texted Brock to find out where he was. He was cooking at her apartment, he’d said. “I need to do something about my hair before you see me,” she called out, locking the front door behind her.

“What?” he said, emerging out of the kitchen in her printed apron. He was playing some sort of retro Christmas music, too. It was all very festive--or it would have been, had she not been terrified he’d hate her hair. She yanked her messenger bag in front of her face like a celebrity fleeing the paparazzi.

“Don’t look!” Darcy said.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “What are you fucking doing?”

“I’m hiding my hair. It’s 1987 over here,” she muttered from behind the bag. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You’re not gonna let me see it?” he said. She blinked at the fabric of her bag.

“I forgot that _Flashdance_ hair counts as vintage now,” Darcy said. “I’m old.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, sounding amused. “I was a damn adult when that movie came out, how old does that make me? C’mon. Let me see it,” Brock said coaxingly. 

“Are you sure?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said.

“You’re gonna freak out,” she said.

“I think I can handle a haircut,” Brock said. 

“Okay,” she said. She took a deep breath and lowered her bag slowly. She was scrunching her face in expectation of laughter when he reached over and tapped her nose gently. Darcy opened her eyes. “What?” she said.

“It looks great,” he said. “I like it.”

“No you don’t,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, I do,” he countered. He pulled her into his arms for a kiss. That was nice. She felt happier when he pulled back. He grinned at her. She was clinging a little to his apron. “Sweetheart,” he said. “You’ve got sex hair.” 

“You’re kidding?” Darcy said, mouth dropping open.

“Nope,” he said, smirking. “Sit down. Lemme get you a drink. You like blood orange?”

“Blood orange?” Darcy said, staring at him.

“Blood orange and prosecco,” he said.

“I feel like I look like Cher and Bon Jovi had a baby,” Darcy complained, turning on her TV fireplace, just to have something to do.

“Nah,” Brock said. “Cher dated Richie Sambora.” He brought her a flute filled with fizzy champagne and juice. She took it. “They call this a mimosa sud.”

“You know Cher trivia?” she asked. He shrugged. 

“I can’t like Cher?” he said. “How’s the mimosa?”

“Amazing,” Darcy said. He looked at her, then sank down onto the couch next to her. 

“C’mere,” Brock said, taking the flute away. 

“You’re taking my flute?” she said, pouting.

“I’m kissing you,” he said. “Stop me in two minutes, I gotta stir the penne.” His intense look made her feel better. He leaned in, grinning, and twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “I like the hair,” he said. “It’s good hair.” They kissed until the timer beeped.

“Whoops,” Darcy said.

“Shit,” Brock said. Some of her lipstick had come off on his face and he was still wearing her apron. “I gotta check that. My pasta’s gonna be all stuck.”

“I should tell you I’m not picky about pasta or mimosas,” Darcy said, sipping happily.

“Good,” he called out.

“I can’t believe you like my hair and you made me pasta,” Darcy said as they ate. “This is wonderful.” He smirked at her, scars twisting, and shook his head. “What?” she said.

“I can’t fucking believe you think you look bad. You look great,” he insisted, waving his fork.

“Thank you,” she said. 

“You wanna fool around after this or do you wanna watch that Jimmy Carter music documentary and then fool around?” he asked. Darcy thought about it.

“It depends on how much of this I eat,” she said honestly. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“How’d you know I wanted to watch the Jimmy Carter thing?” Darcy asked.

“Politics and music. Seemed like a you thing,” he said.

“Yup,” she said. 

Darcy was full of cheese and watching Jimmy Carter onscreen when she got a little teary. It was something about being curled up next to Brock and watching Carter heckle members of the Klan who’d come to protest him at a campaign event. “Sweetheart, are you crying?” Brock said. He looked alarmed. “Your hair is great, really.” 

“It’s not my hair,” Darcy said, blinking. “I just get very emotional about Jimmy Carter.”

“Yeah?” Brock said. 

“He just seems like a very good man, even before I knew he really likes music,” she said. “Genuinely good.”

“Sure,” Brock said.

“And also, when he said that thing about not being racist and how the past wasn’t a place to live, that was moving,” Darcy said. “Brock, I think he actually believes the things he says.”

“Yeah,” Brock said.

“I don’t think I’m used to adult men being sincere,” she said. “Not without jokes.”

“I’m sincere,” Brock said.

“But you’re from New York, it’s a whole different thing,” she said. He tilted his head. 

“How?” he said.

“You’re sincere, you just approach important topics from, like, the side instead of head on,” she told him. “Jimmy Carter is like this,” she said, making a box in front of her with her fingers, “and you’re more over here.” She gestured off to the side.

“What?” Brock said.

“Well, you know,” Darcy said. “Either you’ll try to be funny or you, um, spend lots of money. I know you _feel_ things, you just don’t necessarily talk about them. You just skip to sex. Which is not bad. It’s showing affection,” she clarified.

“Do you want me to talk about them?” he said slowly. 

“I don’t know if I can handle sincerity all the time,” she admitted. “I might cry too much.”

“Yeah. I kinda freak out when people cry,” he said.

“And it ruins your makeup and gives you a headache,” Darcy said. “I mean, I know why crying can be useful, but i don’t want to cry all the time.” She paused. Onscreen, Loretta Lynn was singing.

“I like sex,” he added. “And affection.”

“Me, too,” Darcy said, leaning over to kiss his burned ear. He looked at her.

“Did you wanna go to bed now or--?” he said, holding the TV remote.

“I’m sure CNN will show this again,” she said, taking the remote out of his hand. She stood up and tugged on his arm. “Come on, Commander,” Darcy said. “I’ve got a fun sex idea.”

“Okay,” he said. 

“We’re detouring to the kitchen,” she said. “This calls for supplies.”

* * *

“What are we roleplaying again?” Brock said, a few minutes later. Darcy was straddling his hips. He was naked. She paused, plate still in her hand, and studied her canvas. 

“Cheese board. Your abs are going to be the board,” she said. She put a few thin slices of cheddar on one of his pectorals. He looked down, frowning.

“Food and sex?” he said doubtfully.

“Shhh, cheese boards don’t talk back,” Darcy said. “You just lie there, being all flat and firm like a fancy cheese board.” She patted his stomach. “You’re going to like this,” she added, grinning.

“Yeah,” he said, putting a hand behind his head. She knew he did it to show off his biceps. The man understood the appeal of arm porn. “Why’s that, again?” he asked as Darcy sat down the plate and leaned over to kiss his raised elbow. The scarred skin there was slightly smoother--the inside of his arm had been less badly burned. She met his eyes.

“Because I’m not going to use my hands,” Darcy said.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory fashion notes & photos (oh God, they're so long this chapter, sorry!)
> 
> Books:  
> Judith Mackrell's _Flappers: Six Women of a Dangerous Generation_  
>  Ann Mah's _Mastering the Art of French Eating_  
>  Julie Richardson's _Vintage Cakes: Timeless Recipes for Cupcakes, Flips, Rolls, Layer, Angel, Bundt, Chiffon, and Icebox Cakes for Today's Sweet Tooth_  
>  Pippa Guy's _Let's Get Fizzical: Over 50 Bubbly Cocktail Recipes with Prosecco, Champagne, and Other Sparkling Wines_
> 
> The delicate ring is swoooooon: https://www.etsy.com/listing/660305695/18k-solid-gold-blue-sapphire-diamond-art?ref=search_recently_viewed-4&pro=1&frs=1
> 
> The massive sapphire and onyx diamond ring: https://www.howardsdiamondcenters.com/collections/beverley-k/products/ladies-14k-white-gold-diamond-sapphire-and-onyx-ring
> 
>   
> Shags: I know they're polarizing, but I love them. I'm kinda obsessed with Jayne Matthews and Edo Salon's instagram. This is my inspiration for Darcy's haircut. Kat Dennings' hair looked SO great and she was about 5 years ahead of everybody, I swear: https://stylecaster.com/beauty/kat-dennings-bangs/
> 
> Also, I totally headcanon that Brock Rumlow is a 70-80s/big hair enthusiast. He's the right age to have grown up around massive quantities of mousse and hairspray.


	17. Almost Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy woke up to Brock getting dressed on the side of the bed. “Where are you going?” she said sleepily, rolling over to grab her glasses and wrap her arms around his waist. She had that drowsy, relaxed feeling and didn’t want to get out of her warm bed. Or for him to leave her.

“I’ve got, uh, an errand thing,” he told her. He didn’t have a shirt on yet.

“Nooooo,” Darcy said. “You’re going to the gym, aren’t you? Doesn’t the gym close ever? It’s the twenty-third! Don’t leave. Stay with meeeeeee.”

“I’ll be back by ten,” Brock said, turning his head and grinning at her. “You just go back to sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up, sweetheart.”

“Nope,” Darcy said, still hanging on. “You’re going to have to pry your hot body out of my cold dead….did you change the sheets?” She’d realized the sheets around her were a different color than she remembered. Last night, she’d had little blue owl sheets. These were flannel puppies.

“Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t want you to, uh, sleep in cheese crumbs. The other ones are in your dryer.”

“Oh my God, I’m keeping you,” Darcy said, squeezing harder. “I slept through that?”

“I put you on the couch bed,” he said mildly. He was leaning down to tie his boots.

“Are you for real?” she whispered, pressing her nose against his scarred back. “You seem too good to be real.” She wiggled to sit up and dotted his back with loud, obnoxious kisses. “I think,” she said, between smacks, “that I just need to keep you here, so nothing bad happens.” She planted a large, noisy kiss between his shoulder blades. “I love this spot,” she told him. “Pretty shoulders.” Darcy was giggling when she realized that his tiny, sudden shaking wasn’t laughter. “Brock!” she said, alarmed.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” he said in a choked up voice. “Don’t look at me. I fucking hate when I cry and shit.” 

“Oh,” she said, rubbing his back. “Did you want to talk about it or nah?”

“Later,” he said. “After Christmas.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “What do you want me to do right now?”

“Just go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he repeated. This time, he sounded upset. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. She kissed his back and crawled back under the covers. “All right, I’m pretending to sleep but I’m really just going to watch you walk away,” she announced. “Because you’re so attractive.”

“Yeah?” he said in a quiet voice. He turned to look at her. His eyes were a little red. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Won’t stay long at the gym.”

“Okay,” she said gently. She watched as he left the room and listened for the front door shutting. “Whoa,” she said, mystified. 

Of course, it was impossible to go back to sleep after that. She looked around for something to do.

* * *

“He cried?” Jane said, when Darcy called her. She’d asked Jane to go in the storage closet so they wouldn’t be overheard. Now a frowning Jane was standing next to a bottle of Galaxo Soap. Darcy didn’t recognize the logo. Sometime, she’d have to ask Jane about space commerce and product branding. Today, she was too worried. And a little sleepy. Why was Brock crying? 

“He got a little teary,” Darcy said. “Which, I’m confused, okay? Why would you cry because your girlfriend wanted you to stay in bed?” she wondered. “Is he unhappy?”

“It’s really very simple,” a different voice said suddenly and Loki emerged in a shower of green and gold sparks.

“Ah!” Jane said, instinctively whacking at him with the nearest item. It was a duster.

“Stop that,” Loki said. “It’s quite dusty and repulsive and will not injure me in any way.”

“You know I hate when you sneak up on me!” Jane said.

“I spoke before I appeared, did I not? It hardly counts as sneaking up on you. It’s not my fault that you lack observational skil--”

“How is it simple?” Darcy said, ignoring their bickering. Loki rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

“The man considers himself unattractive, therefore he brags about your sexual exploits to all his comrades and weeps with joy when you humiliate yourself by begging for his attentions,” he said.

“I did not humiliate myself!” Darcy said. “I was just being affectionate like a normal person.”

“Oh, well, then,” Loki said. 

“You can weep in joy?” Jane said.

“You can’t,” Loki said. “Your first instinct is to hit people. You are quite violent--”

“I am not!” Jane said, raising the duster threateningly.

“Ah ha!” Loki said. “Your hand is raised in violence!”

“Shit,” Jane muttered, looking at the duster.

“Whoops,” Darcy said, giggling.

“This inclination to violence is one of the traits you and my brother share,” Loki mused. “You are both also stubborn, mulish, obstinate--”

“Those are all synonyms,” Darcy said.

“I am listing them for emphasis,” he said dryly. “You, on the other hand, have a tendency towards soppy emotionalism and crying over music. I assume your lover shares these appallingly weak-willed, maudlin tendencies---”

“Pffht,” Darcy said, sticking out her tongue. “No green Christmas cookies for you, Prince Snothead!”

“I despise that nickname,” he said, looking affronted. “It is offensive and unregal.”

“I’m just too weak-willed to resist,” Darcy sassed him.

“Ha ha ha,” Jane said.

“Do you hear your impertinence?” Loki said to them. “I am surrounded by the uncouth and ill-mannered. Put your tongue back in your mouth,” he scolded Darcy. “It is disgusting.” In response, Jane stuck out her tongue, too.

“Ha ha ha,” Darcy echoed.

“Philistines everywhere,” Loki complained, looking at the ceiling.

“What are those?” Jane said, pretending to be ignorant. Darcy could tell from the gleam in her eye. 

“By the Norns,” Loki muttered. He disappeared in a spray of sparks.

“Success!” Jane said.

“I can’t believe you’re running him off by pretending not to know things,” Darcy said. “Did you do that to me with the ringtone?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jane said. Darcy narrowed her eyes. “But Thor wanted me to tell you tell you he loved those cinnamon roll Pop Tarts,” Jane added.

“I’m glad, I thought they weren’t cinnamon roll-y enough,” Darcy said. “There was too little filling.” She patted her bangs. “How bad does my hair look? I’m afraid to look in the mirror, it might wreck my happy Christmas vibes.”

“It looks cute!” Jane insisted. “All fluffy and stuff.”

“Okay, I’m going to look,” Darcy said, crawling out of bed. She’d put on pajamas before she called Jane. She crept into the bathroom. “Oh!” she said. Her hair haloed her face. It was fluffy, but less fluffy than it been the day before.

“What is it?” Jane said, voice tinny. Darcy had left her phone on the nightstand. “What’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t look terrible,” Darcy said. “Jane, is my hair actually….cute?”

“Duh,” Jane said. “I keep trying to tell you!”

* * *

Jack heard the sound first. _Thwack-thwack-thwack._ He rounded the corner and peered into the dimly lit gym. It was quiet this time of year. To his surprise, he realized it was Brock, punching a bag. It swung back and forth.

“What are you doing here, mate?” Jack asked. He was surprised: he’d thought Brock was taking a few days off. There had been paperwork.

“Getting my hour in while Darcy’s asleep,” he told the Australian, pausing his _thwacks_. He grabbed a towel and wiped his face. “Needed a little gym time. You got Roger on board for New Year’s Eve?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Jack said. “He wants to do brunch. They’re showing the dog movie starting early this year.”

“Good,” Brock said. “She loves brunch. I think.”

“You think she loves brunch?” Jack said, grinning. It was such an odd sentence coming from Rumlow. Brock made a face.

“Don’t mock me,” he grumbled. “She likes champagne and pancakes. I’m taking a guess here.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Brock said.

“I did not say a bloody word,” Jack said.

“You thought it,” Brock said. He sighed. 

“What, mate?” Jack said. The other man’s expression had gone odd.

“I got...weird feelings,” Brock confessed. “I’m so fucking emotional. You ever get, you know, real emotional when you met Roger?”

“Emotional?” Jack said, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Brock said. He leaned forward to whisper. “She wanted me to stay in bed this morning and I, uh, got emotional.” Jack still looked perplexed.

“I don’t follow you, mate,” he said.

“I almost cried,” Brock said quietly. “Like, what the fuck, Jack? I don’t do that shit.”

“Ah,” Jack said, trying to hide his surprise. “How didya feel, exactly?” he asked carefully. “You didn’t want to leave?”

“No, no,” Brock said. He looked at himself in the gym’s mirror. When he was alone, he didn’t worry about a shirt. It meant his scars were visible beneath a sheen of sweat. “It was just confusing. I felt--felt like she really wants me around. Just me. Not my money or my job or whatever,” he said. “I always get that feeling when things are good between us.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, hoping he sounded sympathetic and not confused himself. “I think you should get that feeling,” he added. “That the person you’re with likes you and wants you around.”

“Yeah,” Brock said. “Shit’s just confusing sometimes.”

“Because you are emotionally stunted?” a voice said. Sharon Carter was standing in the doorway. She tilted her head and looked at them wryly.

“Hey, Shar,” Jack said.

“I’m emotionally stunted?” Brock said, in a more aggrieved voice.

“Yes,” Sharon said. “Like eighty-five percent of the men in this building, you wouldn’t know a feeling if it sat on you. You go around, trying to cover yourself in glory and machismo--”

“What?” Brock said, as Jack started to laugh.

“You could stand to actually feel your feelings a time or two,” Sharon told him, crossing her arms.

“Feel my feelings?” Brock said slowly.

“Yes!” Sharon told him, laughing.

“Yeah, I guess I could,” Brock said. She stared at him, expression mirthful.

“What are you and Cam doing for the holiday break, love?” Jack asked. Carter and the shy technical analyst were together, now that her romance with Steve had fizzled.

“Chinese food, of course,” Sharon said. “And we’re going to a day spa for a couples’ massage. I’m very excited. Anything beats a six course sit down dinner with my sister and her husband asking nosy questions about Steve.”

“Huh,” Brock said. “I could book Darcy a massage sometime.”

"He's like this now?" Sharon said, grinning at Brock.

“‘Fraid so,” Jack said. He looked at her. “How do you and Cam feel about old movies with dogs?”

“Like _Old Yeller?”_ Sharon said. “Doesn’t the dog get rabies and die?”

“Jack, you are not showing Darcy a movie where the dog dies,” Brock said. “No fucking way.”

“That’s not the one,” Jack insisted. “Calm down. Bloody calm down.” He held his hands out soothingly. It was a move Brock had taught him. “It’s an old movie series from the thirties. The dog lives.” Jack sighed. “The bloody dog lives forever, along with the alcoholics that own ‘im.”

“Oh,” Brock said.

“I’m still not clear on what we’re talking about,” Sharon said.

“Come to me and Roger’s for New Year’s Eve brunch and movies,” Jack said. “That’s what I was getting at.”

“It’ll be fun,” Brock echoed. He pulled on a t-shirt he’d left lying on a bench. “I gotta go hit the showers. I’ve got an appointment to see a jeweler.”

“What?” Jack said. “More jewelry? This is getting ridiculous, mate--”

“Maybe he’s pre-buying for his next mishap, like when he forgets her birthday or flirts with her sister!” Sharon called out.

“Very fucking funny, Carter,” Brock said, walking backwards towards the door. “It’s Cap who keeps it in the family, not me.”

“Argh!” Sharon said, grabbing a medicine ball and throwing it in his general direction. Brock dodged, laughing, and jogged out of range.

He was showered and dressed when he ran into Jack again. “Just talked to Roger,” Jack said. “He’s got news. Thinks he’s found you a vanity for Darcy.”

* * *

Darcy decided to get up and wash her hair, just to see how her new haircut looked when she fixed it. She co-washed her hair with her favorite coconut scented product, scrunching and squishing water into her hair until it waved gently. She always put her hair in a microfiber towel to dry while she did her makeup. She was carefully flicking her eyeliner up at the ends, purple towel turban on, when Brock called. “Hey,” she said, shifting from leaning closer to the bathroom mirror. Her ring sparkled in the reflection. “Whatcha doing?” she asked.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said. “But I wanted you to have input, baby.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, wondering what he was up to.

“Roger’s found you a vanity and he knows a refinishing guy,” Brock said. “I just wanted you to pick the color. I’ll arrange everything.”

“Seriously?” Darcy said, seesawing between surprise and delight. “You found a vanity?”

“Roger says it’s perfect,” Brock said. “The kind you’ll like.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. “What are my color choices?”

“Anything you want,” Brock said.

“That’s too many choices!” Darcy said, laughing. “I mean, chalk paint, stain, regular paint--”

“She wants to know what kinda paint?” Brock said to someone at the other end. He put the refinisher on the phone.

“Hi,” a new voice said. “I’m Chris. I can paint it whatever you want.”

“Well,” Darcy said, trying to make a rapid series of decisions. “I like the purple amethyst chalk paint---wait, can I send you some photos?” After they’d talked awhile, Brock got back on the phone.

“Everything good?” he asked Darcy.

“Yeah,” she said. “But you didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s fun,” he insisted.

“Are you coming back now?” Darcy said. She’d been thinking of what they’d do on Christmas itself. “I wondered if you wanted to talk about food? Do you have feelings about food?” She would need to go to the grocery store. Usually, she and Jane did fettuccine or picked up Chinese. Nothing fancy or stressful. If Darcy felt motivated, she might roast chicken breasts or make a fun cake from a magazine recipe, but Jane ate whatever you put in front of her. Brock might be a different story, she’d realized. She had no clue how to cook a lot of protein, it was dawning on her. There were food safety issues you didn’t get with whoopee pies. It was vaguely alarming to contemplate. Protein was so...leaky. 

“Yeah,” Brock said. Then he cleared his throat. “I’ll be back soon,” he said.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “So we can decide on a menu or whatever?”

“What do you normally do?” he asked.

“Fettuccine,” she said. “But you just did the penne rosa sauce.”

“I like fettuccine,” Brock said. “Whatever you normally do is great.”

“Maybe I can look at my cookbooks,” Darcy decided out loud. She looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Don’t go to the gym again, I want your input for this,” she told Brock. “No gym!” She made her voice stern. This was the same voice she used to get Jane to shower.

“Yes,” Brock said lightly.

“Are you mocking me?” Darcy grumbled. 

“No,” he said, clearly laughing. He lowered his voice. “You can boss me around anytime, sweetheart.”

“Don’t talk to me like that when you’re not here,” Darcy said flirtatiously. “It’s unfair.” 

“I had fun last night. You want cheese? I could pick up some cheese on the way home?” he offered. She was certain he was teasing her.

“Oh my God,” Darcy whispered. “But yes. Gruyere, please.” He laughed. She loved that sound.

* * *

“I’m here to pick up a ring,” Brock said to the sales assistant at the jewelry store. It was crowded with holiday shoppers. 

“What name is it under?” she asked.

“Brock Rumlow,” he said. She disappeared into the back of the store and he circled the cases, looking for anything else he wanted to add to the order. He’d spent less on this ring than the larger Art Deco one, so he felt as though he was underbudget. The vanity didn’t count, he told himself. It was a separate thing. The piece itself had only been about two-hundred dollars; it was the paint job that would cost a little more. Roger had been budgeting for Darcy, not him. 

“Can I help you?” another assistant asked, smiling.

“I’m looking for some sapphires to match my girlfriend’s ring,” he said. “Maybe some earrings? She likes delicate things,” he said. He was studying a pair of vintage-looking earrings when his phone rang. It was Darcy. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said.

“Where are you?” Darcy asked. They’d talked at the grocery store. There was cheese, steak, and lobster tails on ice in his SUV. “Are you still shopping?” she said.

“Uhhh,” Brock began. “Possibly? I needed to pick up your Christmas present—”

“Oh my God, stop!” she said. “I do not need anymore Christmas presents. Besides, I want you to go on a road trip with me.”

“A road trip?” Brock said.

“Yes. Today. Now, actually. How fast can you get back?”

“Uhhh, twenty minutes?” he said. 

“Okay. I’ll explain when you get here. Hurry, hurry!” Darcy said. 

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said. He got the ring and smiled apologetically at the saleswoman. “I’ve gotta go, no earrings today.”

* * *

“I’ll take these,” Darcy said, when he got back. She took the groceries. “You should probably change clothes. Stuff you don’t mind getting dirty!” she called, vanishing into the kitchen. He quickly stuck the wrapped ring box in Darcy’s stocking without her noticing.

“What are we doing?” Brock asked, following her into the kitchen. She was wearing leggings and her Fair Isle sweater over another t-shirt.

“One of the rescues we met called me. They need volunteers to transport some dogs from a county shelter to Arlington today,” she explained, hurriedly putting up groceries. “I used to do rescue transport on weekends when I was at Culver.”

“Oh,” he said. “Today?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, appearing flustered. “It has to be today because—this is so sad, Brock—these rural shelters put unadopted animals to sleep before Christmas. The county doesn't want to pay people to come in over the holidays, so the employees called the rescue to see if somebody could take these last dogs to some fosters in Arlington. Their first plan fell through.”

“Jesus,” Brock said.

“I know!” she said. “They close at five. I’ve got directions on my phone and some Capstar for fleas. I got that already.” Darcy looked around, as if she needed to remember something else. “Do you need to change?” Brock shook his head.

“I’m ready,” he said. He was wearing jeans, a t-shirt for his gym, and a jacket. 

“Just grab your bag and the, uh, flea stuff?” Brock said. 

“Okay, okay,” Darcy said. “Let’s go.” She smiled at him. “Thank you for going with me,” Darcy said as they left the apartment.

“Where are we going?” Brock wondered aloud. 

“It’s near Raeburn,” Darcy said.

He could tell Darcy was anxious, but she seemed happier when she spoke to the shelter manager and told him that they were on their way. “Everything good?” Brock asked.

“Yeah,” she said, turning up the Christmas music. “They’re glad we’re coming.” 

“You can relax now,” he told her, reaching over to rub her knee. She smiled at him.

“You want some sort of flavored butter with your steak?” Darcy asked. 

“Who’s fancy now?” Brock teased. “And I can cook my own steak.”

“We’ve never cooked together,” she said. “Oh em gee, that’s going to be a test of our relationship.”

“Yeah?” Brock said.

“My kitchen is so tiny,” Darcy said. “Even Jane and I don’t fit.” He nodded. “We always say one day we’re going to have a two-butt sized kitchen.” He burst out laughing. It took them a few hours to make it to the little rural shelter. The two lane road was winding and framed by trees, old houses, and fenced fields of cows.

“You don’t eat beef,” he said, processing out loud. He hadn’t thought of it before.

“Cows have such sweet faces,” Darcy said. 

“But not chickens?” Brock asked.

“Nope,” Darcy said, “birds have murder in their hearts. I’ve seen my Hitchcock movies.”

“Sure,” Brock said, nodding. “Makes sense. How far are we?”

“One mile,” Darcy said. “This is going to be so much fun, you’ll see.” 

“Yeah,” Brock agreed. He saw a green state sign for the shelter and pulled onto a dirt road. The SUV bumped along until they got to a building. “It’s a trailer,” Brock said, surprised. Behind the trailer, there was a cement block building.

“Yup,” Darcy said, clamoring out of the SUV. “That is surprisingly common in Virginia.” There was a row of chain link, roofed pens outside, too. They were all empty. Brock frowned. A man came out of the trailer and greeted them.

“You here for the dogs and the puppies?” he asked.

“Yes,” Darcy said enthusiastically. Brock was fairly sure she hadn’t mentioned puppies before but he wasn’t going to argue. This place was sad. They followed him into the cinderblock building. There were rows of chain link cells. All empty, save for two cells near them. The dogs inside wiggled wildly. “Hey, guys!” Darcy said. The dogs turned out to be a yellow lab mix and a floppy eared, sad-eyed hunting dog. Brock loaded them into the backseat of the SUV as Darcy chatted with the manager. The man kept thanking them for coming this close to the holidays. “You got them?” Darcy asked, hefting her own box. The shelter manager had put three tiny puppies into a cardboard cat carrier with a handle. They were whining and making thumping noises as they hopped around inside. A black nose poked out of one hole.

“Yeah,” Brock said, standing in front of the car door. The lab reached out and licked his ear. Darcy laughed. “Hey, buddy,” Brock said. “Let me get that Capstar.” He suddenly understood Darcy’s suggestion about wearing casual clothes. The dogs smelled a little funky. 

On the way back, Darcy called the rescue. “Janet, I have the dogs—and bonus, um, puppies? I couldn’t just _leave_ them there,” she added. “Do we have anybody to foster puppies?” she asked. There was a pause. Darcy looked at Brock. “We might be temporarily fostering puppies, babe,” she whispered.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“Puppies are easy to place,” she said. “I think.” 

“Sure,” Brock said, turning to get back on the highway. Darcy opened the box to check on the puppies. Several dark heads popped up over the side of the box. Darcy leaned forward and let them kiss her face.

“Oh my God, you’re so cute,” she whispered. “I think they’re pit lab mixes. So cute. But a little bit smelly. No, no escaping, you look like someone who’d get stuck under a car seat, mister.” It took her a moment to get them back into the carrier. When she got off the phone, she turned the Christmas music on again. The lab kept sticking its head over the console and trying to kiss Brock as he drove. The hound--initially terrified-looking and drooling--perked up as they got farther from the shelter.

“Do you want me to crack a window?” Darcy asked him in a cheerful voice. “Who wants to stick their head out the window?”

“Me,” Brock said, dodging another slobbery labrador kiss. When Darcy laughed, the lab started kissing her instead. She was still giggling several moments later, when the other dog started to howl along with the Christmas music.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. “I’ve gotta get this on my phone. He’s singing!” She turned around to record it, trying to get her phone around the lab’s shoulder as he kissed her face again. 

They met the people fostering the adult dogs at a gas station. “Who’s taking them?” the woman fostering the hunting dog asked. Darcy had already sent her the video of him howling along to “Grandma Got Run Over By the Reindeer.” She and Darcy had been talking for twenty minutes; the lab had already left with another couple. He’d bounced away happily and not even looked back. 

“Um, I guess we are?” Darcy said, making a face. “It was sort of unplanned? But I couldn’t just leave them there!” She opened the box so the woman could pet them.

“Awww, they’re so cute,” the woman said. 

“I don’t have a crate yet, but I couldn’t just leave,” Darcy added. 

“It was depressing,” Brock said, rubbing her back. Darcy looked at him with a funny expression. The woman laughed at a bouncing puppy, then looked at Darcy.

“I’ll take them,” she said. “I can foster them. I’ve got crates and bowls and everything. They’ll get placed fast.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, “really? Okay.” They helped her load the puppies and the hound dog into her Subaru. “Bye, buddy,” Darcy said, petting him. Brock rubbed her shoulders, then patted the dog a final time. The dog looked relaxed, he thought. They stepped away from the SUV. He waved goodbye to the woman as she got in to drive away. “It’s nice to meet you!” Darcy called. The woman waved back. The hound dog stuck his nose out of the car window as the Subaru left the station. Darcy sighed.

“You’re going to miss them, aren’t you?” Brock said. 

“A little bit,” she admitted. “I sorta wanted to foster them. But those puppies had huge feet. It would have been a bad idea for me to get attached. Especially if they were pit mixes.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“High energy, needs exercise and someone who’ll train them to actually behave,” Darcy said. “I have trouble making Jane behave. This is why I need a small dog who’s a chill couch potato.”

“Sure,” Brock said. He paused. “The lab didn’t even miss me,” Brock complained. 

“I’d miss you,” Darcy said, taking his hand. He felt her engagement ring beneath his hand. “Let’s go home.”

They were headed back to DC when Darcy grinned at him. “What?” Brock said.

“We probably need to shower,” she said. “You know, because of germs.” She hummed along to the Christmas song on the radio. 

“Yeah?” he said, unable to keep the happy note out of his voice. “We might need to do that together. For the environment.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said.

* * *

“Vanilla mocha shower gel?” Darcy offered, as they stood under the warm water.

“Hmm?” Brock said. He was slightly distracted by the lines of her back. He thought he could look at her for hours. 

“I’m making you smell pretty,” she told him, turning around. “Before we get out of here.”

“You wanna get out?” he said, feeling disappointed.

“I like beds and shower sex is risky,” she told him, scrubbing his chest with a loofah. He nodded. Her hand moved down and he had to repress a groan of longing. The bodywash smelled like dessert.

“That’s making me smell pretty?” Brock wondered. This had been the strangest day, he thought, seesawing between lust and amusement.

“Pretty, yummy, whichever,” Darcy said. “Turn around, Commander Pretty.” He snorted, but moved obligingly, so she could wash his back. He felt something on his ass.

“Did you just pinch my ass?” he said, laughing.

“It’s like a peach!” Darcy said, sounding delighted. He felt both palms squeeze then. 

“Not everybody likes peaches,” he muttered. He knew his ass was covered in a network of scars.

“I do,” she said, shutting off the water slowly. He reached his hand out and pulled a towel off the towel bar. Darcy wrapped both of them in the towel and then put her arms around his waist, squeezing for a second. “Mmm,” she said. They rocked together for a second. Then she tilted her chin up at him. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” Darcy said. “I’d sort of forgotten.”

“We’ve got a few hours,” he said. 

“Okay,” she said happily. He felt strangely relaxed as he dried her off and they fumbled out of the bathtub. She kept leaning forward and dropping kisses on parts of his body: a lingering smack on his chest. Her lips in a groove created by the failing beams of the 42nd floor of the Triskelion as he dried her hair gently. A third kiss against his pectoral, followed by a nuzzle and a beaming grin that look his breath away. She pressed her lips against his burned elbow as he wrapped the towel around her again. 

“Baby,” he said as Darcy giggled. “I almost elbowed you in the head.”

“Worth it,” she said, kissing his bicep. The intensely lustful look she gave him was enough to rock him on his heels. He picked her up. “Ahh!” she said, pretending to shriek.

“Worth it,” he said back, carrying her to the bed.

“Oh, I’m gonna make you pay for that, Commander,” she said. He smirked. 

“Do your worst, Lewis,” he joked. She nodded, looking smug. 

“Oh, I will,” she said. “Lay back.” He complied, wondering what she would do. 

Her worst was the tenderest, most agonizing bit of foreplay he’d ever experienced: he watched, mesmerized, as Darcy started by crawling to the end of the bed. She massaged his calves slowly. Her eyes trailed over his body. He didn’t know why, but his heart was racing.

“You’ve been very well-behaved lately,” she told him. She stroked the backs of his legs and scraped them with her nails. “On your best behavior.” She kissed his calf again.

“I try. You look good,” he said, voice catching. She was sitting between his knees, touching him in ways that seemed designed to drive him crazy. 

“I know,” she said pertly. This time, she leaned her face against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, sucking gently. Her nails raked down the outside of his leg. The contrast between the two actions was intensely arousing. He wanted to be inside her. He didn't care how. He just needed her. 

“Fuck,” he murmured, inhaling roughly. He craned his chin to look at her. “Baby,” he said, not caring that he was begging. “I wanna--please.”

“Not yet,” Darcy said, moving back to his feet. He sighed--and she had the nerve to laugh at him.

“You’re heartless and I love you,” Brock said, as she massaged his calf again. 

"Pffhht, smooth-talker," Darcy said. She grinned at him when he made a disgruntled sound. "Merry Christmas Eve, Brock Rumlow."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm headcanoning these as our prettttty almost-Christmas-gifted earrings for this chapter:
> 
> https://www.shaneco.com/earrings/traditional-sapphire-and-diamond-dangle-earrings/p/41084354?icid=certona_41084354&rrec=true


	18. Christmas in Connecticut...And Other Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“I think we should get a dog,” Brock said. “Adopt a dog, I mean.” They were making Christmas Eve brunch. He was turning over French toast in a pan for her and scrambling eggs for himself in another.

“Really?” Darcy said, brightening. She’d been turning on Dean Martin’s Christmas album and playing it on her travel speaker. “You want to adopt a dog with me?”

“Yeah,” he said, “maybe after New Year’s? We could try it, right?”

“Okay,” Darcy said. “I’ll look at some of the rescue websites and see who needs a new family?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You want a little dog, right?”

“Yep,” Darcy said. “You’re okay with that?”

“I like little dogs,” he said.

“Great,” she said, coming over to hug him from behind. “So, do you have any big plans for today?”

“Nope,” he lied. He was going to give her the ring today. He caught faint whiffs of Obsession as Darcy rested her cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Would you like to have brunch and then watch my favorite old Christmas movie and goof around on Petfinder?” she offered. 

“Yeah,” Brock said lightly. “Sounds good.” It all felt very comfortable. Or he hoped she was comfortable.

It turned out that the favorite movie was an old black and white one about a food writer who couldn’t cook. “Why’s she got to find a husband again?” Brock asked. They were eating on the daybed couch. “Sorry.” He’d caught her as she ate a forkful of French toast. Darcy chewed for a second.

“Um, because she’s been pretending to be a happy housewife in her magazine cooking column?” Darcy said, grinning. Onscreen, Barbara Stanwyck was reluctantly deputizing a smarmy guy to be her fake husband.

“Sort of an undercover thing?” he said.

“An entire identity based on lies!” Darcy said. “And you found the one professional term for it?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding and making a comical face. She giggled. “We did that,” he pointed out. “It turned out okay.”

“Oh, shit,” Darcy said, mouthing dropping open. “I’m like a character in my favorite movies now?” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. He smirked back.

“No,” he said.

“No?” she said.

“You pretended you wanted to marry me to make my ex jealous and now we’re dating, it’s less complicated than this,” Brock said. She burst out laughing.

“You’re too cute. Here, have some French toast?” she offered, feeding him off her fork. “I really like Dennis Morgan, I don’t know why he wasn’t a bigger star.”

“Yeah,” Brock said. “He’s better than the stuffed shirt guy she’s borrowing the house from.”

“Do we hate him?” Darcy said.

“Yes,” Brock said.

“You’re very game today,” Darcy said. “First you want a dog, then you like my old lady movie, now you’re eating some French toast, what’s that about?”

“I’m game everyday,” he insisted. Darcy raised her eyebrows. “I am. I like the movie.”

“It’s from nineteen-forty-five and has a big subplot about pancake flipping, you cannot possibly,” Darcy said. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I like the other guy. He was in the Navy.”

“So?” she said.

“I was in the Navy.”

“I didn’t know that,” Darcy said. He nodded.

“Before SHIELD, Navy,” he said, shrugging. “What’s bugging you?” 

“Do you need me to pretend to want kids when I meet your mother? How are we handling that?” she asked. He grimaced, thought about it, and shook his head. 

“No,” he said. “She knows I don’t. Want kids, I mean.”

“Oh. You don’t?” Darcy said. He nodded. “But you want a dog?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You’re not undercover as a guy who wants a dog, right?” she said. 

“C’mon,” he said, tilting his head.

“Your nostrils are flaring just a teeny-teeny bit,” Darcy said.

“I want to get a dog with you,” he said. “I liked the dog thing.”

“The dog thing?” Darcy said.

“Picking ‘em up. They’re not dead right now because of us, that’s a...a good feeling,” he said.

“Ohhhh,” Darcy said. “Yeah. It is.”

“What happened?” he said, refocusing on the television screen.

“Oh, this is the part where they think they’ve lost the borrowed baby,” Darcy said. “I think?” He snorted. They finished eating before the movie ended and Darcy curled up against him. 

“When Ma comes, just be yourself,” he told her. “Wear what you want, say what you want.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. “You’re sure she’ll like me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Brock said. He kissed her temple. She was watching the black and white images onscreen. “Well, maybe I want you to wear one thing,” he said, reaching into his pocket for the ring box.

“Wh-what?” Darcy said.

“Real relationship, real ring,” he said. 

“Oh,” she said, sounding stunned. He popped the box open. “It’s so pretty and so delicate,” Darcy said in a dreamy voice.

“I picked out one I thought you’d like this time,” he said.

“I do,” she said. “But…”

“What?” he said.

“Can I still keep the fake one, too? I’m emotionally attached to it now,” she said, wiggling her left hand. The heart-shaped diamond sparkled. He burst out laughing again.

“Wear ‘em both,” he told her, slipping the sapphire on her right hand. Darcy turned her head to look at him. 

“You wanted me to have another ring because we’re together for real?” she said. “Awwwwwwww.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” he grumbled. “Ow.” Darcy had turned and was wiggling in his lap, poking him with her knees as she smacked kisses across his face, giggling. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m really, really happy,” she said, smiling. “And I’m going to look really good when your mom gets here. Like total babe, I swear.”

“Don’t”--she plopped a kiss on his nose-- “worry about Ma.” He grinned at her. “Worry about finding us a dog.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. She made to turn back.

“Hey, wait, where you going?” Brock said. “I thought you were romancing me a little over here?”

“Nope, now I’m focused on puppies,” Darcy said, picking up her phone and leaning back against his chest. “Let’s look at them together.” He sighed. “I heard that,” Darcy added. “Look at this little guy!” She waved the screen near his nose.

“A chihuahua?” Brock said.

“You’d love one, I swear,” Darcy said. “Oh, wait! Can I give you one of your Christmas presents?”

“One of them?” he said.

“You’re not the only one who Christmas shops, sir,” she said. She got up and retrieved a rectangular package. “Here, this one,” she said. 

“You got me a book,” he said, smirking. “You tryin’ to class me up?”

“Excuse me, you’re very fancy already, with your suits and your hotel lifestyle--” she was saying, as he neatly tore open the wrapping paper.

“You got me a book about boxing?” he said, surprised by the cover. Darcy had found an autographed copy of _The Sweet Science_. There was a gold sticker on the corner.

“It’s signed,” she told him. 

“This is great,” he said, beaming.

“Good,” she said, “I’m glad you like it.”

“You’re very supportive of me,” he said. He sighed softly. 

“What?” Darcy said.

“I was really fucking shitty to you when we started this thing,” Brock admitted. “I’ve been shitty to you more than once.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. 

“Not gonna disagree, huh?” he said.

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “You had a lot of unresolved issues about your ex and general stuff. You were kinda rude--more than once.” She scrunched her nose.

“But you put up with me,” he said slowly. “Gave me second chances.”

“I did,” Darcy admitted. 

“Didn’t tell me to fuck off when you probably should have,” he added.

“Yup,” Darcy agreed. “Because I liked you.” She looked back at him. He looked from the book in his hand to her face.

“How many dogs do you want?” Brock asked. “You wanna start one of those charities?” 

“I think we shouldn’t make any hasty decisions,” Darcy said. “Start with giving one dog a home. Let’s look at this little terrier? How do you feel about scruff? I like scruff.”

They scrolled through the website together, watched Christmas shows on television, and opened presents--he talked her into opening a few more--for the rest of Christmas Eve. “You have to stop spoiling me,” Darcy declared, looking at one of her books. “You’re obsessed.”

“I’m an asshole,” Brock said. 

“I’m redeeming you slowly,” Darcy said.

“Yeah?” he said. He’d been skimming his boxing book. 

“Not because of romantic love”--she flipped the page on her champagne cocktail book-- “that’s a total cliché, but because you really need a dog and a better social life.” 

“That right?” he said, feeling amused. 

“Uh-huh. When Jane and Thor get back, we’ll have more couple friends, too. Is there a Medieval Times anywhere around here? I’ve always wanted to take Thor,” Darcy said, clearly imagining the Asgardian watching jousts. She was grinning naughtily.

“I’ll look it up,” Brock said. 

“Oh, I need to open Jane’s present,” Darcy said. “I portaled her some cake the other day and she had this delivered.” When she opened the box, Darcy squealed.

“What is it?” Brock asked.

“A Cary Grant-themed Christmas sweater,” she said, delighted. She held it up. “How cute is this?”

“Jane knows you,” Brock said, deciding he should have been asking the scientist for advice this whole time. “It’s a great sweater.” 

* * *

“Jane,” Darcy said in alarm, “I’m sweating too much!” It was the day after Christmas and they were meeting Brock’s mother at the airport. “Help!” she said desperately into her phone screen. Brock was out in the living room. She wasn’t going to be able to hide her agitation from him forever. She’d probably start hyperventilating any second now.

“Why’s she losing her mind?” Rocket said from behind Jane.

“She’s meeting Brock’s mother,” Jane told the racoon. 

“Oh yeah. Meeting a rich guy’s mother, that’s always a treat,” Rocket said dryly.

“Ughhhhhh, I’ve got boob sweat everywhere, I can’t wear silk,” Darcy said, looking sadly at her wrap blouse. Dotted circles of perspiration were emerging from the shiny fabric, at the top of her abdomen. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” she moaned. She’d chosen black leggings and boots, but it would be weird if she wore all black, she thought. “I don’t know why my body is doing this to me,” Darcy complained.

“It’s okay, calm down,” Jane said soothingly.

“Bleep bleep,” Groot said, clamoring next to Jane’s elbow, eyes big. He waived his limbs down, slowly. If she’d been able to concentrate, it would have reminded Darcy of a hula dancer. Gentle swaying branches. 

“I can’t calm down!” Darcy said. “What am I wearing to pick up his mother?”

“Clothes, Lewis,” Rocket snarked.

“Shhh,” Jane said. “She’s very upset!” At just that second, Darcy’s doorbell rang.

“Oh, noooooo,” she moaned.

“I’ll get it!” Brock called from the other room.

“Thank you!” Darcy called weakly. She stepped out of Jane’s frame and into her closet, tossing the blouse on the floor.

“You’re gonna need to clean that,” Rocket said, “or it’ll stain.”

“It will?” Darcy said.

“I don’t know,” Jane muttered. “I don’t wear silk.”

“Okay, this one,” Darcy said. “Is this okay?” She stepped out of the walk-in and held out her arms awkwardly. She was wearing a cowl-necked top in a soft shade of violet.

“You look great!” Jane said. 

“Sweetheart,” Brock said through the door, making Darcy jump, “your vanity is here. Can the guys bring it in?”

“What? Oh my God!” Darcy exclaimed. “I’m so not ready.”

“You’re dressed, let ‘em in,” Rocket said. “Get ahold of yourself. Snap out of it!”

“You sounded like Cher,” Jane said.

“I like that movie,” Rocket admitted.

“Bloop,” Groot said, nodding. 

“Yeah, it’s a good one,” Rocket said.

“Okay,” Darcy called to Brock. “I’m dressed!” He opened the door and stuck his head.

“You okay?” he said, looking concerned.

“No,” Darcy said, shaking her head. He came over and cupped her elbows.

“It’s okay,” he said, stroking her arms. “She’ll love you.” Darcy nodded. Behind him, two guys carried in a massive Art Deco vanity. It had a round mirror and a waterfall design. Roger’s guy had done a dramatic ombre paint scheme: deep purple paint fading to shades of lipstick pink and rose. 

“Oh wow,” Darcy said.

“The guy’s creative,” Brock said.

“It’s beautiful,” Jane said from the phone screen. “Not stuffy at all.”

“So beautiful,” Darcy said.

“You like it?” Brock said.

“I love it,” Darcy said, beaming at him. “I love you.” She threw her arms around him. 

“Yeah?” Brock said, smiling. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said, nodding. He nodded back, mouthing the words, _I love you_. They were having an intense moment of eye contact. One of the guys set his side of the vanity down with a grunt. 

“This all right?” he asked.

“Don’t ruin the moment!” Rocket yelled from the phone.

“Is that a racoon?” the other guy asked, peering at Darcy’s phone screen.

* * *

“It’ll be all right,” Brock said, squeezing her hand, as they waited in the pickup zone at the airport. It was busy with post-holiday travelers. Darcy was anxiously watching for his mother to emege. Not that she knew what Angela Rumlow looked like. Angela’s profile photo was a picture of a white poodle. Darcy hoped that was a good sign. His mother had liked all of his social media photos and commented on their faked engagement, but her social media--Darcy had snooped--was difficult to read. It was full of photos of relatives, Brock’s sister’s children, restaurants and NYC landmarks. She seemed family-oriented, but Darcy didn’t know if Angela would approve of her. The only thing she had to go on was the comment under their engagement photo, where Angela had declared her stunning in all-caps. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said, nodding.

“Hey,” he said, smirking. “Kiss me. You’ll feel better.”

“Very funny,” Darcy said, but slid closer to him anyway. He kissed her as she looked towards the doors.

“I found an adult Boston Terrier with special medical needs,” Brock told her. Darcy looked back at him abruptly.

“Did you just say that to get my attention?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “But did it work?” He grinned and she pretended to shake him in mock-irritation, seizing his jacket and pulling at him. He didn’t budge and looked down at her hands in amusement. “Cute, honey,” he said.

“Ahhhh, I’m so tense!” Darcy said. Brock cupped her face and directed her attention towards him.

“Look at me,” he said, “look at me.” He stroked his thumb gently over her cheek. “We’re gonna be fine, okay? I love you.” 

“That’s your second I love you for today,” Darcy whispered. 

“Uh-huh,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her. She let herself relax into his arms. They were making out when there was a rap on the car window.

“Ah!” Darcy said, jumping. She turned. There was a woman smiling on the other side of the glass next to his face. She was smiling.

“Hey, Ma,” Brock said, reaching back to open the driver’s side door. “Lemme get your bags,” he said. Darcy moved to open her door and got out as they were hugging. 

“You look good--you’re too thin, but you look happy,” she was saying, when he grinned over her shoulder at Darcy. His mother was tiny and bundled in a big fur-edged coat.

“Come meet Darcy, Ma,” he said. His mother turned. Darcy held her breath for a second. They were the same height. Angela Rumlow had a head of teased dark hair, brown eyes surrounded by silvery shadow and heavy eyelashes, and a big smile, slicked in carmine lipstick. Long earrings brushed the top of her coat. She reminded Darcy of Gina Lollobrigida.

“Honey!” she said, immediately hugging Darcy. 

“Oh, hi,” Darcy said, feeling stunned.

“She’s a tiny little doll!” Angela said. She smelled like perfume and hairspray. A bit of her coat tickled Darcy’s nose. Angela pulled back suddenly and looked at her. “Honey, where is your coat? You’ll freeze to death.” She looked at Brock, frowning. “Why don’t you get her a coat?” she asked. “She’s too small to be without a coat. Look at her in just this little sweater. Such a pretty color on you, that lavender.”

“Thank you. It’s in the car,” Darcy said. “I’ve got a coat.”

“I got her a coat, Ma,” he said.

“She’s even prettier in person,” his mother told him. “Look at her skin! I thought it was all filters or something. Your Aunt Micki won’t believe me when I tell her--she likes to argue, allways thought his cousin was handsomer, but that’s not true,” Angela said, chatting happily and somehow managing to steer Darcy back towards the car while walking beside Brock. It was like being carried along on an ocean of words. “You’re just so pretty,” she said to Darcy. “And so feminine!”

“Thank you,” Darcy repeated, feeling a flood of strange relief. Her fake leopard print coat was sitting in the passenger seat.

“This is your coat?” Angela said, sounding delighted. 

“She picked it out, “ Brock said.

“I love it,” Angela said. “All your clothes are lovely, honey.” She looked at Brock. “You should get her a real fur--”

“Oh, no this is fine, really,” Darcy said.

“I have a recycled mink, I’ll send it to you,” Angela said. “It would look beautiful with your coloring.”

“Ma,” Brock said, putting his mother’s bag in the car, “she doesn’t wear fur.” He gave his mother a faintly scolding look. 

“It’s from nineteen-seventy-two, the mink would be dead anyway,” Angela said, loudly enough that a passing traveler looked at her in surprise. Darcy wasn’t sure if it was the heightened state of her nerves or his comically alarmed expression, but she couldn’t help it: she burst out laughing, leaning against the car door. Brock looked at her in puzzlement.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Darcy whispered, horrified. But Angela just beamed at her.

“See? She thinks I’m funny,” Angela said. “He refuses to find me funny. Men never want their mothers to be funnier than them.”

“I think you’re funny,” Brock said, sounding offended. He helped his mother into the backseat. “I’ve always told people you were funny! Where do you want to go to dinner, Ma?” he asked.

“Where does Darcy want to go?” Angela asked.

“Oh, no, you pick,” Darcy said, as Brock got into the driver’s seat. They debated back and forth until Brock cut in as they threaded through DC traffic.

“I’m picking a place with steak,” he declared. “You two like everything, anyway.”

“He gets cranky on that paleo diet,” Angela said. 

“Skinny people get hangry so easily,” Darcy said, looking at her in the backseat and nodding.

“I’m not that skinny,” Brock said.

“His waist is like this,” Darcy said, making a circle with her hands. 

“Uh-huh,” Angela said.

“I don’t know where there’s even space for his stomach and his liver,” Darcy said.

“Oh, I tanked my liver years ago,” Brock cracked.

“Does this mean I get to tell Darcy how wild you were?” Angela said.

“Ma,” he said, sighing.

“Did you want to see the rings?” Darcy asked, realizing Angela hadn’t seen them yet.”He’s been showering me with jewelry,” she added, hoping his mother would be impressed.

  
  


* * *

“We’re thinking of getting a dog,” Brock was saying, when Darcy looked up and spotted two familiar figures at the restaurant’s hostess stand. 

“What kind of dog?” Angela said.

“Little dog, maybe a Boston--what is it, sweetheart?” Brock said to Darcy.

“There’s Miranda and Chris,” Darcy said. They were being led by the hostess and it looked like they’d pass right by them. 

“Oh my God, not that woman,” Angela said, rolling her eyes dramatically and muttering something Darcy didn’t understand.

“Ma, don’t make a scene,” Brock scolded.

“She is two-faced,” Angela insisted. “She throws you over for this idiot with his big teeth.”

“How do you know he has--have you been snooping?” Brock said.

“I’m your mother!” Angela said. “He looks like a moron.”

“Ma,” Brock repeated.

“Guys, shhhhhhh,” Darcy said, trying not to giggle. The couple was walking right next to them. Chris spotted them first, beaming.

“Hi!” Chris said brightly. Next to him, Miranda’s smile had fallen. She looked freaked out.

“Hi,” Darcy and Brock said at the same time. Chris was smiling widely, head swiveling to everybody at the table. It increased his resemblance to a happy golden retriever. He was practically bouncing on his heels.

“Mrs. Rumlow, it’s nice to see you again,” Miranda said, looking like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.

“Mmm-hmm,” Angela said coldly.

“You’re his mom?” Chris said, offering his hand. He shook hers enthusiastically. “It’s great to meet you.”

“I’m here to meet Darcy,” Angela said. Across the table, Brock was mouthing sorry at Miranda.

“Darcy’s great,” Chris said. 

“Thanks. You’re in a great mood,” Darcy said, trying for a distraction. “Successful mission or something?”

“We’re having a baby,” Chris blurted out, then looked chagrined. “Sorry, Randy.” He looked at Miranda in a slight panic. 

“We just found out,” Miranda said. “Today.”

“Congratulations,” Brock said, looking serious. “I know how much you want a family,” he added, looking at Miranda. Angela was looking at them with something like horror, Darcy realized. She tried to distract Chris.

“High five,” she said, “you’re gonna be a Dad!”

“I’m gonna be a dad!” Chris said. “That’s crazy, isn’t it?”

“Crazy exciting,” Darcy said. She made sure to smile at Miranda. “Congratulations,” she told Brock’s ex. She really meant it. “That’s great.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said.

“It is great,” Brock said, before they were led away to their table.

“Should we send them something? We can’t send her champagne,” Darcy said to Brock. 

“Sparkling water?” Brock asked, frowning in thought. Darcy nodded. When the waiter dropped by, they ordered drinks and then had something sent to the other table.

“I can’t believe you’re sending that woman drinks,” Angela said. “She’s already having a baby before you!”

“We don’t want a baby, Ma. We’re getting a dog,” Brock said.

“Yeah,” Darcy said.

“You don’t want a baby?” Angela asked Darcy.

“Nope. Sorry,” Darcy said. “Just a dog. I’m planning on being a good aunt, though. Doesn’t your daughter have kids?”

“Yes,” Angela said, looking stunned. She looked from Brock to Darcy. “You’re both happy and okay with that--that situation?” She gestured towards Miranda.

“Yeah,” Brock said.

“Tell your mom about the Boston Terrier with medical issues,” Darcy said, trying to be encouraging.

“He’s got allergies and chronic dry eyes, so he needs eye drops,” Brock said. “Also, he’s got a luxating patella that might need surgery, but they can do physical therapy first.” 

“His name is Mugs,” Darcy said, showing Angela a photo on Brock’s phone. “I think that’s a sign.”

“She loves mugs. And coffee,” Brock explained. He reached over and squeezed Darcy’s hand. “We really should do an application on Mugs before somebody snatches him up,” Darcy said.

“Already done. I did it while you were getting ready,” Brock said. 

“Yay!” Darcy said, shimmying a little. She leaned over and kissed him. Angela stared at them. 

“You’re happy,” she said slowly. 

“Yeah, Ma,” he said. “Happy as fuck.” That seemed to satisfy Angela, oddly. Darcy had been afraid that Angela wouldn’t understand. Brock looked at his mother. “Have you ever seen _Christmas in Connecticut?”_ he asked. “It’s Darcy’s favorite Christmas movie.”

“Not _It’s A Wonderful Life?”_ Angela said.

“It’s sooo much better,” Darcy said. “I promise. _It’s A Wonderful Life_ does Donna Reed’s librarian all wrong.” She looked at Angela. “Do you want to stay with us, instead of a hotel? I have a daybed in my living room.”

  
  


* * *

“Popcorn?” Darcy offered, bringing some to Angela in the living room. Angela was sitting on the daybed. _Christmas in Connecticut_ was playing. 

“This is a good movie,” Angela said. “I like Barbara Stanwyck.”

“Me, too!” Darcy said. She sat down next to Angela. The older woman looked at her. Brock was taking a shower.

“Thank you, honey,” she said.

“I make popcorn all the time,” Darcy said. 

“I meant my son. You make him happy,” she told Darcy. “I haven’t seen him this happy since before his accident.” Her face had gone all funny and her mouth quivered. Darcy blinked, trying not to cry.

“That’s really nice of you to say,” she said in a low voice. “Shoot. I didn’t want to cry. I’m setting down the popcorn,” she said, tears hot on her cheeks. “Okay, you have to hug me now!”

Angela was squeezing her when Brock emerged from the bedroom. “Is everybody hugging without me?” he said. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “After the movie, remind me to show your mom the vanity.” She sniffled. Brock plopped down next to them.

“They done the pancakes scene yet?” he asked. He picked up the popcorn.

“Thief!” Darcy said jokingly. He kissed her cheek and then tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

“We were bonding and he stole our popcorn,” Angela said. She shook her head.

“He’s secretly addicted to the corn,” Darcy said.

Angela stayed almost a week. She admired all of Darcy’s wardrobe, her new vanity, and all of Brock’s Christmas presents. “He bought you books,” Angela said, sounding impressed, when they looked at everything in the bedroom. 

“He spoils me,” Darcy said. “Did you want to try a fizzy drink after the interview? If everything goes well, we can celebrate.” They were waiting for the rescue’s adoption coordinator to come and interview them about Mugs. Brock was prepping snacks for the coordinator.

“It’s going to go great,” Angela said reassuringly. She had grasped that Darcy really wanted Mugs. “I have a plan.”

“You have a plan?” Darcy asked, confused. The doorbell rang.

“I do,” Angela said. “Don’t you worry.” She patted Darcy’s hand. 

“I got it!” Brock yelled. They hurried out to the living room. He was already letting in the coordinator, smiling broadly. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“That would be wonderful,” the coordinator said, blushing a little.

“Someone else has a plan, too,” Darcy whispered to Angela. Brock was laying on the charm. They all sat down in the living room. Darcy fielded all the dog questions with what she hoped were the correct answers about exercise and vet references. She had a letter of recommendation letter from Fury--he and his wife owned cats--and references for a good vet practice. But Darcy wasn’t expecting Angela to bring out a shopping bag. 

“I’m very excited about them getting Mugs,” she said. 

“Possibly getting Mugs,” Brock said helpfully.

“I got him a little jacket and booties for the cold,” Angela said. She held them up proudly as Brock offered the coordinator some of Darcy’s gouda and Ritz crackers. The woman looked a little overawed.

“Those are very cute,” she said, looking at the little jacket.

“It’s Burberry,” Angela said proudly. “He’s going to be very well-dressed.”

“If we’re chosen,” Darcy said. “I’m sure there’s lots of interest. He’s so cute.”

“What if we schedule you for phase two?” the coordinator asked.

“Phase two?” Darcy said.

“Spending the day with Mugs, if you get approval,” she said. “Sometime in the first week of January?”

“Great,” Brock said. “More gouda?”

When the door shut behind the coordinator, Darcy threw herself at Brock, squealing. “We did good! We did good!” she said.

“What kind of prosecco do we have?” Angela wondered.

“Door of the fridge, Ma,” Brock said, holding Darcy. They beamed at each other. 

“I’m so excited,” Darcy said. 

“Good,” he said warmly.

* * *

“Did you get Mugs?” Roger said, opening the door at he and Jack’s on New Year’s Eve. Darcy, Brock, and Angela were all there for brunch. Jack had wanted to see Angela, so she’d delayed her return to New York. Roger was very invested in the Mugs situation.

“We’re still waiting to find out!” Darcy said, bouncing a little. “They’re supposed to call us. They haven’t called yet.”

“Damn,” Roger said. “Damn and blast.”

“It’s starting to stress me out,” Brock admitted, as they went inside. Darcy looked curiously around the house. There was colorful modern wallpaper and a sculpture of a horse.

“Wow,” Darcy said to Roger. “You’re a great decorator.”

“He is,” Angela said brightly.

“Miss Angela!” Jack called out. “Is that you? Come give me a hug.”

“I just love him,” Angela said breathlessly, hurrying into the kitchen. 

“I feel the same way,” Roger said, putting his arm around Darcy. “You have a good Christmas?”

“I love my vanity, it turned out perfectly,” Darcy said. 

“It’s gorgeous!” Angela trilled, emerging from the kitchen. There was a knock at the door behind them. 

“That’s Sharon Carter and Cameron Klein,” Roger said. Brock opened the door. 

“Hi,” Sharon said, waving. “I’m very excited about brunch.”

“We both are,” Cam said. “And I like old movies.”

“Wonderful. Come in,” Roger said.

“Say hi to Roger’s horse,” Brock snarked.

“How did you come from such a lovely mother?” Roger asked drily.

  
  


“Is that Jimmy Stewart?” Cam said.

“Yup,” Darcy said. They were watching _After the Thin Man._ “One of his first movies.”

“Can I get another waffle?” Sharon said.

“Here you go,” Roger said. “Angela? More bellini?”

“Yes,” she said, laughing.

“Mate, you’re driving, right?” Jack said quietly to Brock.

“Yeah,” he said. “Ma, slow down!”

“You boys can carry me to the car,” Angela said. Darcy snorted and Brock threw his arm around her.

“I like the little dog,” Brock said, rubbing Darcy’s shoulder. “I think we’re gonna get him.”

“You sound very certain,” Darcy said.

“I’ve got a good feeling,” Brock said. Onscreen, there was a small shootout.

“Oh shit,” Cam said. “Who got shot?”

“The sleazeball,” Darcy said.

“Oh. I’m okay with that,” Cam said. Sharon laughed. Darcy was tucking into a blueberry muffin when her phone rang.

“Hello?” she said. The voice on the phone was a happy one. “Thank you, thank you,” Darcy said. “When can we pick him up?” She hung up the phone and looked at Brock. “We got Mugs!” she yelled.

“We’re not in phase two?” Brock said.

“They were very impressed with our application,” Darcy said. “We were fast-tracked?”

“Oh, I know,” Sharon said. “Fury made some calls. He’s a bigwig in cat rescue.”

“You’re bloody kidding me,” Jack said. “Fury? Nick Fury?”

“Yup,” Cam said.

“You have sway, apparently,” Roger said.

“I’m going to have a granddog!” Angela said. “This is my first one.” 

“Awwww,” Darcy said.

“It’s not her first bellini,” Brock said quietly, as a fox terrier barked on the television. “When do we pick him up?”

“Tomorrow,” Darcy said. “Ahhh! I can’t believe it.” She squeezed his hand and tucked her head against Brock’s shoulder. He smiled at her.

“I can,” he said.

“I need to get him more coats,” Angela said. “Al Roker says we’re having a cold winter.”

  
  


-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a great time with this one! Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos!
> 
> My inspo for Darcy's ombre vanity. I decided she couldn't pick a color, so she gets all of them: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/231372499592525866/


End file.
